Tina had been apologising for her last name since primary school. A moment on a game show changed that.

Growing up, I learnt pretty quickly that my surname was considered a problem. In school, my teachers would stare at the roll, pause when they got to my name, and inevitably find a workaround. It started with mispronunciations, then escalated to nicknames like "Tina ABC," as though my full surname was just too much to deal with.

At first, it seemed harmless. Everyone laughed, including me. I was just a brown kid desperate to 'fit in'. But as the years went on, that recurring moment — when my name was reduced, simplified, or dismissed — began to stick. It planted a seed of shame that I didn't fully recognise at the time. I started to believe that my name really was "too hard" and that it was something I needed to apologise for.

My surname, Abeysekara, carries with it my Sri Lankan heritage — a connection to my roots that I have always treasured, but one that, for a long time, I was made to feel ashamed of. Rather than celebrating this piece of my identity, I let the fear of mispronunciations and awkward moments take precedence.

By the time I reached adulthood, this narrative had taken root. Anytime someone asked for my surname, I would immediately respond with, "I'm so sorry — it's really long. I know it's hard." It wasn't just a habit; it was a reflex. Without realising it, I had internalised the idea that my name was something to be embarrassed about, something I needed to downplay to make things easier for others.

That shame stayed with me for years. It influenced the way I introduced myself, the way I filled out forms, and even how I thought about my own identity. When applying for jobs, I would call the recruiter to prove that I was fluent in English just in case my name might hold me back from opportunities. I had become accustomed to proactively mitigating any issues my name would bring.

And then came Millionaire Hot Seat.

When I signed up to be on the show, I wasn't thinking about my name. I was thinking about trivia questions and the possibility of winning some cash. But as the taping date approached, that old, familiar anxiety crept in.

Sitting in the green room before filming, I was bracing myself. I kept waiting for a producer to come up to me and ask, "How do you say this?" Or worse, to suggest that they just call me "Tina A." It was what I'd come to expect.

But none of that happened.

When my turn came, the host (Eddie McGuire) introduced me to the audience — and he said my full name perfectly. No hesitation. No awkwardness. He just said it, as naturally as if he'd been saying it his whole life.

That moment was like a jolt. I remember thinking, Wait a second. It's not that hard? If someone from a different background to me could say my name effortlessly on live television, then why had I spent so much of my life believing it was too difficult for anyone to handle?

It wasn't my name that was the problem; it was the story I'd been telling myself about it.

That realisation stayed with me. Over the next few weeks, I started reflecting on how much shame I had carried around because of something that was never actually my fault. My name wasn't too long or too hard or too anything. It was mine, and it deserved to be spoken just as much as anyone else's.

That experience got me thinking about other parts of my life I'd been minimising. For years, I had been using the Instagram handle Trash to Treasured, which went on to become the name of my fashion styling business. It was just a fun handle, something to show my thrifted finds at the time, but it was also safe — a way to share my content without putting my full name out there. As my business grew, 'Tina from Trash To Treasured' felt easier to use in mainstream media than my full name.

But deep down, I knew that handle was also a shield. It allowed me to hide from my name and, by extension, from fully owning my identity.

So, I switched it. I changed my handle and my website to my full name, and I still get a thrill when I see it used next to my work. It felt like reclaiming a part of myself that I'd been pushing aside for all the wrong reasons and finally allowing myself to take up space.

Sharing this journey in an Instagram reel brought up mixed feelings. It felt vulnerable to admit how much shame I had carried, but it also felt like I was making a big deal. Oops, there I was again trying to minimise something that had deeply impacted how I moved through life.

So, I hit post. And the response was overwhelming.

People were quick to share their own experiences of name shame — whether it was a name that was "too ethnic," "too unique," or just spelt differently than expected.

Watch: Tina Abeysekara shares what it's like to grow up feeling ashamed of her surname, and how a game show changed everything. Post continues after video.

A common sentiment: "It hurts that they don't even try."

Reading those messages, I realised how universal this experience is. It's not just about names. It's about all the little things we've been told to shrink, soften, or hide in order to make ourselves more palatable to others. For me, it was my surname. For someone else, it might be their voice, their style, their dreams. The specifics don't matter as much as the message: you are not too much.

Today, I say my name with pride. I no longer apologise for it because there's no need to. And when someone asks me how to pronounce it, I smile and teach them. It's not an inconvenience; it's an opportunity to share a piece of who I am. Sharing this has also reminded me that vulnerability can be a powerful bridge to connection.

And if there's one thing I want people to take away from this story, it's this: your name, your identity, your story — they're worth it and they belong. Acknowledge it, and next time an opportunity for change arises, take action. I promise those small shifts will lead to bigger, better, experiences in your world.

Have you had a similar experience with your last name? Tell us about it in the comments section below.

You can follow Tina Abeysekara on Instagram.

Feature image: Supplied.