Living by the Labels

As children, we don't just hear words.

We become them.

Growing up, I was called names.

"Kargi" ("Blacky" in Kannada)

 "Skinny"

 "Tomboy"

 "You don't even look like a girl."

At five or six years old, I didn't understand what those words meant. But my subconscious did.

Nobody sat me down and said, "You are not good enough." Yet somewhere inside, that became my truth.

I grew up believing I wasn't good enough or pretty enough. I even believed my sister, who was fair like my Amma, was more beautiful and perhaps loved more. None of it was true. But our minds don't always distinguish between facts and repeated messages.

One memory has stayed with me.

I was around thirteen or fourteen. Amma had bought a pair of silver anklets for my sister and me. I loved wearing them. I still remember the musical sound they made as I ran around the house.

One day, I simply took them off.

I don't remember making a conscious decision.

I only remember that I never wore them again.

Somewhere along the way, I convinced myself there was no point trying.

I played mostly with boys and stopped caring about looking "girly." Without realizing it, I had begun living the labels others had given me.

Over time, I built an invisible shield around myself, making sure no one got close enough to see the real me.

Years later, through Transactional Analysis, I understood why compliments made me uncomfortable. We all need strokes recognition and acknowledgement, yet I struggled to receive or even give them.

Whenever someone complimented me, my first thought was, "What do they want from me?" I rejected them before they could reach me.

Those childhood labels quietly shaped my friendships, my relationships and most importantly, my relationship with myself.

The turning point wasn't changing my appearance.

It was changing the story I believed about myself.

Through deep inner work and therapy, I finally met the young girl who had always been enough.

Today, I can simply smile, say "Thank you" and accept a compliment with grace.

For me, it took years.

Sometimes, the hardest labels to let go of are the ones we've repeated to ourselves for years.

Before I end, there's one more thought I'd like to leave with you.

How often do we casually call someone Fatso, Shorty, Lambu or countless other names just for fun, without any intention to hurt?

Most of the time, they are said with affection or in jest.

But we rarely know which words quietly take root in someone's mind and become part of the story they tell themselves.

Our words have the power to become someone else's inner voice.

Perhaps that's reason enough to choose our words with care for others and for ourselves.

I invite you to take a moment to reflect...

What's one label you've carried about yourself that it's time to let go of?

And what's one label you wish you had never given someone else?