Beyond Bloodlines: The Psychology of Choosing One’s Name

As a psychologist who works with trauma survivors, individuals navigating narcissistic abuse, and those healing from abandonment, Prateik Babbar’s decision to change his surname to Smita Patil is deeply significant. This isn’t just about a name—it’s about reclaiming identity, honoring a mother’s sacrifices, and breaking free from narratives imposed by others.

Prateik’s very existence is marked by loss and trauma. His mother, the legendary Smita Patil, passed away due to childbirth complications. He was raised by his maternal grandparents, distanced from his father’s world. If he now chooses to carry his mother’s name instead, it speaks volumes about where he finds his sense of belonging and identity.

When his half-brother, Aarya Babbar, suggests that “Aap apna name change kar sakte ho, wajood nahi: one cannot simply shed an identity,” it reveals a fundamental misunderstanding of trauma and self-definition. Survivors of difficult childhoods, especially those who have experienced neglect or emotional abandonment, often struggle with identity. Healing isn’t just about moving forward—it’s about reclaiming autonomy over who you are, free from the weight of other people’s expectations.

This also raises a larger question: Why is it still radical for a child to take their mother’s surname? The automatic assignment of a father’s name is a patriarchal default, rarely questioned. A mother literally gives her body—her nutrients, her calcium, her strength—to bring a child into the world, yet her last name is often erased from the equation.

Prateik’s choice isn’t just personal—it’s powerful. It’s a statement of self-definition, of acknowledging the pain of his past while honoring the one parent who was unquestionably his. To dismiss his decision is to dismiss his story, his grief, and his agency over his own narrative. And for anyone healing from trauma, that agency is everything.

Prateik Smita Patil’s decision to reclaim his mother’s name is more than a personal choice—it’s a statement against the weight of inherited trauma, a rejection of patriarchal norms, and a testament to self-definition. For a child raised in the shadow of loss and abandonment, identity is not just about bloodlines but about belonging. His choice to shed the Babbar surname is an act of reclamation, honoring the mother who gave him life and endured societal judgment, while also breaking free from a legacy that never truly embraced him. In a world where fathers' names are defaulted as identity markers, Prateik’s quiet revolution challenges this norm, reminding us that a name is more than just letters—it carries history, pain, and ultimately, the power to heal.