Values vs. Labels, Titles, and Other Means of Identification
A little over twelve years ago, I had what I can only describe as a quietly loud identity collapse.
From the outside, nothing dramatic had happened. I hadn’t endured any significant losses at that time. In the far past, yes — but not then. I hadn’t been publicly disgraced; I wasn’t “famous” enough for that. I hadn’t been fired from some prestigious role. Let’s be honest, I didn’t have a prestigious job to begin with.
And maybe that was part of the problem.
I was surviving between things, taking odd jobs to make ends meet, trying to figure out which version of myself was supposed to win.
The real discomfort wasn’t the work; I’ve never been afraid of work. It was the absence of enough of what I was truly good at — and the absence of a label that felt impressive enough to justify my existence.
I had accumulated so many skills over the years that I thought I should be able to point to one clean title and say, “That’s who I am.” Instead, I felt scattered and undefined: Designer? Culinarian? Businesswoman?
None of them were consistent enough to make me feel like I had arrived. The only title that remained front and center was “Single Mother.”
At the time, I believed the problem was that I didn’t know who I was. In reality, the problem was that I didn’t have a label that satisfied my pride.
We all collect labels. Some are practical, and others are ego-driven. We need names, roles, titles, ways to introduce ourselves so that people know how to relate to us. Without them, we’d spend our days pointing at each other.
Identity definitely has a purpose. The trouble begins when we start storing our worth inside those labels.
CEO.
Famous.
Beautiful.
Republican.
Democrat.
Non-binary.
Vegan.
Wife.
Founder.
Victim.
Victor.
Labels become more than mere descriptions. They become proof of our worth. When we carry labels that are admired, we feel steady. When those same labels crack, we unravel.
Most of us have seen executives collapse after a scandal, even when they weren’t personally at fault. The title disappears and suddenly life feels unrecognizable. I’ve personally witnessed some of them break down completely.
I’ve seen people cling to political identities so tightly that they sacrifice decades-long friendships just to protect the badge.
I’ve watched soldiers struggle when they are no longer soldiers, as if the uniform carried their entire reason for being.
This is human nature; it isn’t weakness. We want to feel capable and seen. We want our efforts to translate into something tangible, and it’s comforting to point at a title and say, “Here. That’s the proof of my worth.”
I fell into the same trap.
I grew up unpopular. I didn’t fit with the popular kids, the burnouts, or the nerds. I was so unidentifiable that even the outcasts didn’t adopt me. I left high school on a plane to Italy to attend fashion design school with one clear thought: “I’ll show them!”
Twelve years ago, I looked around and realized that “someday” hadn’t arrived. It probably wasn’t going to.
Yes, I had worked with famous people. Yes, I had done impressive projects. But they were sporadic, and I had often carried out those experiences under different titles. None of it felt stable enough to define me or comfortably put food on the table.
The moment I finally told myself the truth, something erupted inside me. Weeks of emotional chaos ensued. I compared my reality to curated images of classmates’ vacations, families, and polished careers on social media. I was a divorced single mother in Italy, living month to month with no support system. I concluded that my life was a mess.
Who was I? Where was I going? What had all the talent and sacrifice been for?
For years, people had asked me to teach English. My ego wasn’t having it. I had worked too hard on my “real talents.” I viewed teaching English as something anyone could do. I was attached to an image of success that looked and sounded a certain way. Teaching English didn’t fit that image, and I was determined to be extraordinary.
Eventually, desperation softened my resistance. I accepted those jobs, believing I had no other choice.
Oh, the stories we tell ourselves…
I felt like I had failed my own destiny. When my tears were finally exhausted and desperation grew bored, I faced the simple and honest truth: I was the only one responsible for authoring my life. There was, in fact, no divine conspiracy against me.
Since I was finally acknowledging that I was my own obstacle, I could also conclude that I was my own solution.
Letting go of the pressure to prove something was a memorable relief, to say the least.
The tears turned into humility, and then into gratitude. I realized that surviving conditions many wouldn’t was a success.
I had kept my promises. I had put my daughter first. I had behaved responsibly. I had stayed honest, kind, and respectful. I remained flexible, willing to learn, and genuinely interested in others.
In other words, I never turned my back on my values. So I decided to keep doing that because that was something I could bank on.
I laughed at my own need to be revered as impressive. I committed to making decisions aligned with my values, and slowly, my professional identity formed on its own.
“You in English” emerged through coaching, and through coaching I began designing my own workshops.
The identity that once felt elusive grew organically out of the work itself. It was no longer something I chased, but something that followed.
Now, I see titles as useful. They help people understand what I do, but they no longer fuel me; my values do. If a title disappeared tomorrow, I would still know who I am and what I’m capable of.
Labels can vanish in the blink of an eye. When we invest our self-worth in them, we allow ourselves to be fragile. It’s like putting your life savings into something volatile and hoping the market never shifts.
You get to choose your values regardless of what life hands you. You can move across roles, industries, and seasons without disappearing.
CEO today. Stay-at-home parent tomorrow. President the day after. You still get to be you.
When identity rests on your internal compass, you become adaptable.
Success isn’t the enemy. I love success! I love building things and seeing effort turn into tangible results. It is absolutely exhilarating!
Success built on the need to feel important can wind up being a restless pursuit. You land on milestones already unsatisfied and ready to chase the next thing.
Success built in alignment with your value system is deeply satisfying.
One depends on other people’s applause. The other produces applause as a byproduct of impact.
I don’t believe I’ve ever met someone who hasn’t fallen into the label trap at some point, and some people never leave it. There is something seductive about believing that once we become the owner, the CEO, the famous one, the recognized expert, we’ll get our happy ending.
Spoiler alert: life doesn’t end the moment you reach a target, and life is messy, even when you get what you want.
It’s worth pausing long enough to notice what you’re truly chasing.
The label may come, and it may even fit beautifully.
Just make sure it isn’t the only thing holding you together.