“SOMETIMES PEOPLE DON’T WANT TO HEAR THE TRUTH because they don’t want their illusions destroyed,” noted philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche. In the Woody Allen film “Blue Jasmine,” Cate Blanchett portrays a woman reeling from a reversal of fortune and avoiding the truth that her husband was a Bernie Madoff-type swindler.

Blanchett’s character reminisces about the past, holding tight to the notion that she is somehow better than others because of her husband’s money. Never mind that her former wealth consisted of other people’s life savings, raked in while she looked the other way.

I wanted to shake some sense into Jasmine. “Wake up! Get on with your own life. Take responsibility. Don’t be such a fool,” I whispered while unable to take my eyes off the screen. The character was all too familiar.

I promised myself I would be strong when I walked into the courthouse for the official end of my long marriage. I read the sign on the heavy oak door — Family Court, State of California Superior Court — pulled it open and found a seat. Confusion and denial sat down beside me. I was all too human.

When our case was called, my husband and I were sworn in and then seated beside our divorce attorneys. This, I thought, will be my last day as someone’s wife. The family court judge said to the attorneys, “Counsel, I’ll address the petitioner and respondent directly.” He asked my soon-to-be ex, “Are you certain you wish to proceed with the dissolution of your marriage?”

“Yes, your honor,” he said quickly.

The judge looked over his glasses at me and asked the same question, but I heard “Is it possible your marriage can be saved?” My mind drifted to the Ladies’ Home Journal’s feature, “Can This Marriage Be Saved?” Every month a therapist presents a couple’s differing stories of their dissolving marriage and offers helpful suggestions.

“Do you have a response?” the judge’s voice startled me and I returned to the present moment.

“Yes, it’s possible,” I said.

Taken by surprise, the judge paused, apparently at a loss for words. I wasn’t following the script.

While the judge decided what to say next, my attorney fumed. Hissing under his breath, he said “When pigs fly.”

Seeing my lawyer’s laser-like stare, I sensed his exasperation. He may have thought that my soon-to-be ex-husband and I could not or would not agree on a thing — not even which side of the street to pick up their son from each other’s homes. And now I was reluctant to admit that the marriage was over.

He said, “Your honor, may I approach the bench, please?”

He walked up to the judge’s towering desk and whispered something. The judge nodded in agreement. He returned to my side and asked, “Is it probable? Is it probable that your differences will be resolved?”

“No, actually. It is not probable,” I acknowledged the truth slowly, shaking my head.

“Counsel,” the judge said matter-of-factly, “does your client want her maiden name returned?”

“Do you want your name back?” my attorney whispered.

“Yes!” I replied quickly.

“Yes, your honor,” he told the judge. My attorney had forgotten to ask me about the name change before the hearing. I thought about how he had never lost a name, a life, a sense of self the way a woman can lose herself in a marriage. I saw my name as something full of personal meaning and symbolism.

The judge droned on. “The petitioner retains her maiden name.” I felt relief. If nothing else, I took back my own name. I had the right to use the name on my birth certificate. I would change my name and myself from Mrs. Someone Else to Kristine Kay Mietzner.

I was relieved, if not ecstatic, to face a new reality. Walking out of the courthouse, I felt a welcome lightness in each step. I was free at last. I would never again give up my name or my freedom. I had clarity.

Back home, I walked up the front steps to the porch, pushed open the door, and leaned down to pick up the letters the mail carrier had slipped through the opening. I picked up the bundle of letters and smiled when I noticed the first one was addressed to “Occupant.” That would be me.

Kristine Mietzner is a Benicia writer. Email her at kristine2770@yahoo.com.