What's in a name?

midlife musings on identity

The first time was at the mediation office about two years ago. I sat with my husband of 22 years before a woman with a pen, paper and a gentle smile. Her job was to orient us to the divorce process in The Netherlands and offer her mediation services. She asked for my maiden name and wrote it down on her form.

And just like that a name was plucked out of my childhood, and planted here in The Netherlands.

LaBour is my maiden name, my “meisjesnaam” in Dutch, which means “girl’s name.” The original spelling was LaBourre, before my great grandfather emigrated to America in the early 1900’s. I’ve been told that this means “fluff” or “stuffing” in French, which reminds me of batting for quilts. I had always liked my maiden name, but did I want to use it again? I didn’t know.

Divorce is so painful and oh-so-overwhelming. Of all the questions and quandaries I faced, which name I would use in the future didn’t feel very important. In the Netherlands you can change your name without hassle after a divorce is finalized, so I tabled the question. The final documents were stamped and filed summer of 2024, at which time I was just months away from another identity transformation - becoming a Dutch citizen. And so, last fall, when I became Dutch, I also gave up my married name Rachel Hauser and became Rachel LaBour again, all in one fell swoop.

It’s not so easy, that. Who is Rachel LaBour, anyways? I was just 18 last time I signed that name. She was a girl, who lived under the authority of her parents, whose pale lavender bedroom was adorned with a violet wallpaper border chosen by her mother. She wore a tiara to senior ball and thought she wasn’t an artistic person. Obviously, I wasn’t her anymore.

I could have remained Rachel Hauser, which makes total sense from a business perspective. My book is authored by Rachel Hauser and my children are named Hauser as well. But I wasn’t a Hauser anymore, not really. My ex-husband’s family dropped me like a hot potato as soon as they realized that the divorce was for real. That transition from “like a daughter” to undesirable was a shock I hadn’t counted on. So hanging on to their name never sat well with me either.

When I gave the question my attention, I came up with the idea to be called Rachel LaBourre. In so doing, I would tie myself to my family of birth with a little twist that honored my ancestry and the reality that I am entering a third phase of life.

Rachel LaBour - daughter. Rachel Hauser - wife. Rachel LaBourre - woman.

But it was not to be. The Dutch government allows reverting to the name on your birth certificate without extra cost, but making a change to spelling would have cost €835! It didn’t seem worthwhile for the addition of two letters.

Changing a name is a bit like changing an address. It’s easy to overlook all the corners of your life where the old name might be hanging around. Earlier this week a reader let me know that Rachel Hauser still displayed with my blog emails. I made the correction, and then heard from so many readers, who were wondering if I had been married. =)

Honestly, I should have written about this already. It’s a strange thing to change one’s name in public spaces without explanation. I did consider continuing to do business under my old name, but gradually I came to feel that this change fits.

Sorry for the confusion! And thanks for noticing. And thanks for caring.

Do you wonder if I wish that I had always kept my maiden name? Honestly, I can’t really see myself making that choice at the tender age of 18, which is when I was married. Even now, if I were to be married, the romance of taking his name does pull at my heart. These are the stories we tell ourselves. These are the perils of being in love. Where do we end and our lover begin? Names are designed to blur such lines, to unite, create family and identity and permanence.

If identity is a dynamic and developing thing, perhaps names should be as well.