Finding Me

Never let your past pain be an excuse to stay messed up

Have you ever heard of Beatrice before? Probably yes... It’s a very common name, you might say. The name Beatrice comes from the Latin Beatrix, which means "she who brings happiness." Well, my name is Beatrice, and for the longest time, I’ve been trying to figure out if the meaning of my name is real, or if my life is just an accident—or maybe it’s all a hallucination.

I grew up in a small village with my grandma. I was lucky enough to attend a private school, unlike most kids in my village. But the truth is, I never liked school. I wasn’t like the smart students who always had the answers to the early morning “mental questions.” I hated school. Yet, I preferred it to my home... if I could even call it a home. I enjoyed school despite all the beatings I got for not solving the math and science questions right. There were so many times I wished school was my home. The fun, the corrections, and the applause you got when you got it right—home was nothing like that.

At home, I never knew what I did right... not once that I could remember. I was never good enough, always unwanted. As a little girl, I didn’t fully understand what I was doing, but I always did as I was told—selling after school. Even now, I’m not sure if I ever did that right.

Growing up, I hated my home. I stayed in school even during vacations or followed good friends to their houses. I always loved my friends’ homes, until my family found out and turned us into enemies. I always ended up hurting the friends I loved. Over time, I became lonely and scared to make new friends because I didn’t want to hurt them too. I learned to be my own friend, closing the door to friendship. I lost the sweetest part of me—being happy. I became timid and afraid to voice my thoughts.

It didn’t stop there. It led to the most dangerous disease of all—bitterness.

My grandma gave me the "power" of selling—selling was my punishment. I had to sell to earn my feeding fee. So, I thought I could fend for myself the same way. I stepped out to earn my own money. It wasn’t the best decision for a teenager, but it gave me the freedom to do what I wanted.

Today marks exactly seven years since I left my granny’s house without looking back.

You might be wondering about my parents. Well, I physically met my mother for the first time in 2021, and my father at the beginning of this year.

I’m still on this journey called life, but I feel lost. I’m gradually becoming the version of the person I always hated. I feel like the exact opposite of my name, and that terrifies me. I’m scared to make friends because a part of me believes I’ll hurt them somehow.

I grew up in a home where I didn’t know what love, compassion, or forgiveness were. I grew up thinking I was the problem—a burden. So, I tried to shed that burden by being independent, figuring things out on my own instead of asking for help.

Now, I find myself defensive when trying to voice my opinion, demanding when I try to ask for something, and silenced when I attempt to set boundaries.

But this year, through the people I’ve encountered—my bosses, supervisors, customers, and colleagues—I’ve come to realize something important. My life today isn’t shaped by my past, nor is it an accident. It’s by design. My inability to connect with friends or voice my opinions isn’t just a result of my upbringing; it’s a result of mental programming.

I know this story is about me, but we all have histories that try to creep into our character, holding us back from becoming the person we’re meant to be. These histories can make the very people who are meant to love and guide us end up disliking us instead.

I know I’ve been a mess—causing career relationships, business relationships, and even destiny relationships to fail. That’s why I’m sharing this with you. If your past is dragging you down, seek closure. Forgive yourself first, reprogram your mind, and remember: you always have a choice. You can choose to stay messed up, or you can choose to clean yourself up.

And if I’ve ever caused you pain in any way, I ask you to find it in your heart to forgive me. I know I’m not the best version of myself yet. But the next time we meet, you won’t see the rude Beatrice or the unfriendly Beatrice. You’ll see the Beatrice—the one who brings happiness.

Life is about choices. Even the refusal to choose is a choice. So choose happiness over pain, because every human carries a history of pain.