Episode of Insight. News And Current Affairs. 52 minutes.
What’s In A Name?
The power encapsulated in a surname often goes unnoticed until circumstances bring it to the forefront. I came to understand this when my own last name began to feel like a symbol of my fractured identity.
When my parents divorced during my fifth year of school, the surname I inherited from my father transformed from a neutral tag into a poignant emblem of family disruption.
Even though I was not old enough to articulate these feelings, I was sufficiently mature to sense the weight of that change, as it served as a constant reminder of the shift in my family dynamics.
It became a daily reminder of a rupture to my family unit. I was too young to fully verbalise it, but old enough to feel it.
My surname followed me everywhere. It was called out in classrooms; I wrote it on every paper; it was on my books, my lunchbox, my clothes labels — in every administrative corner of childhood.
When there were multiple Jessicas in a class, I became “Jessica G”. It sounds minor, but when a name no longer feels like yours, hearing it repeatedly feels wrong or even like name-calling.
A name is so ever-present that you don’t notice it when it fits. You only notice when it starts to grate on you.
‘My surname tied me to heartache’
As a young teenager, I felt I couldn’t be a kid due to the family breakdown and having to navigate new dynamics between all of us.
I was upset about the separation and remember looking at my friends, thinking they seemed to have it all together — even though they also had their fathers’ surnames.
I felt like my life was falling apart and that my surname tied me to heartache I could not move on from.
I isolated myself from my friends, had trouble sleeping, my grades and attendance struggled. I saw the wonderful school guidance officer for help, but she could not resolve my problems.
Deciding to change
Growing up, I did not realise changing my name was possible. I thought it was something women did after marriage or divorce — not something a child or teenager could do.
It was not a light decision for my mum, but she supported me through the process as a minor.
The process was lengthy and took years of discussions and gradually introducing it into different areas of my life until we made it official when I was aged 14.
I remember Mum asking me about 10 times: “Are you really sure you want to do this, Jess?”
I was sure.
After school, Jess studied at university to become a civil engineer. Source: Supplied I still remember how I felt the first time I saw my new name written down over a decade ago. It didn’t sting and I no longer felt pulled backwards every roll call for the rest of high school.
Changing my surname to my mum’s maiden name improved my wellbeing and gave me more autonomy — especially in my adolescence.
It didn’t make my life perfect or change the past, but I feel it gave me a future I could inhabit more honestly.
‘Not a dramatic rejection’
In my family, I was the only one to change my surname.
It was not about erasing half of myself or pitting parents against each other. It was not a dramatic rejection of my history, nor a claim that names alone can heal.
I carried so much mental weight with me, having a surname that reminded me of some of my saddest days.
Healing still required years of work and many facets of support, but I feel that changing my name opened the door to a better future.
It aligned who I felt I was on the inside with the outside. And it gave me the room I needed to breathe and rebuild.
It put distance between myself and the divorce and connected me more so to my mother’s side of the family, who worked hard to build a life in Australia after they immigrated from Ireland.
So, when I introduce myself now as Jess O’Halloran, I feel grounded and proud.
I’m reminded that identity is not only about what is handed down to us, but also about what we choose to carry forward. I’m also proud of the life I’ve built with loved ones — as well as my work in regional Australia as an engineer and educator.
It altered my life course
I know name changes can be controversial. For some people, a surname is sacred and unchangeable; for others, it is just a neutral given.
In Western culture especially, I think we treat a name almost like an anchor. It is supposed to ground us, tell us where we come from, and maybe even who we are.
Sometimes a name preserves connection, sometimes it preserves pain. Mine did both — until I chose differently.
So, I do think there is room for nuance, which might mean listening to a child who might have issue with this part of their identity.
Jess works as a student researcher at the Snowy Hydro. Source: Supplied I believe my life would be extremely different if I was still ‘Jessica G’, and that changing my surname as a teenager altered its course.
It gave me back a sense of self; and frankly was a lifeline that allowed me to move forward.
That is what my name means to me now: a life that finally feels like mine.
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