I’ve been reflecting on the power of labels, and how ones that are bestowed to you can follow you throughout your life, no matter how inaccurate they may be. So it was serendipitous when my monthly newsletter from Nir Eyal, “behavioural design” writer, discussed this exact topic. Reading it gave me an “A-ha!” moment in helping me identify something that had irritated me for years. And that was how any labels my family stuck on me during my brattiest years were thrown back in my face from time to time, even though I had evolved multitudes since then.

The feeling of validation I received from learning the term to describe this, “trapped priors”, was immediately followed by discomfort in realising that I may be repeating the same pattern with my own children. I pride myself in being present, inquisitive, and observant with my kids, and I thought analysing them and drawing conclusions about their personalities was evidence of that. But it turns out that even with good intentions, labeling children does them a disservice.

We may think we’re just making an innocent observation. “She’s so artistic.” “He’s a handful.” “She’s our little drama queen.” But those tiny verbal tags can end up defining how we see our kids, how others treat them, and – most importantly – how they see themselves.

And here’s the kicker: once we’ve decided that label fits, our brain starts looking for evidence to confirm it. Psychologists call this confirmation bias. We start noticing all the moments that reinforce the label, and conveniently ignore the times when the child behaves differently. Before long, the label isn’t just a word—it’s an identity.

I understand and am very guilty of the natural tendency to stamp a child with a category. Identifiers are convenient. They help us make sense of the busy, messy reality of parenting. When you have multiple children, or you’re talking to other parents, it’s tempting to use quick descriptors. “He’s the sporty one.” “She’s the studious one.” It’s shorthand, and in the chaos of family life, shorthand feels efficient.

But labels, once attached, have a way of hardening. They stop being just descriptions and start becoming definitions. And as soon as a definition is in place, it limits the possibilities.

For instance, if you tell people your child is “shy,” they may stop trying to engage with them, assuming the child doesn’t want to talk. If you say your daughter is “bossy,” adults might respond by teasing her for it, rather than seeing her leadership potential. If you call your son “lazy,” you may unintentionally reinforce the idea that he’s incapable of effort, when maybe he just hasn’t found something worth putting his energy into.

What’s worse is when the child starts to internalise the label. A “shy” child might decide they can’t speak up in class because that’s just “not who they are.” A “sporty” child might avoid trying art or music because it doesn’t fit their assigned role.

One of the things I found most striking in Eyal’s article “Let’s Not Decide Who Kids Are Before They Do” was how labeling can lock kids into self-fulfilling prophecies. If a child is repeatedly called “clumsy,” they may stop trying physical activities where they might fail. If a child is known as “the smart one,” they may avoid challenges that could risk failure, because they don’t want to lose that identity.
The truth is, kids are constantly evolving. They’re inconsistent. They surprise you. That’s part of the joy of watching them grow. But when we label them, we lock them into a snapshot that may already be out of date.

Childhood is the one time in life when you should be able to try on different hats and see what fits. One month your child may be obsessed with dinosaurs, the next month with dance. This doesn’t make them fickle; it makes them human.

When we rush to define them, we inadvertently narrow the playground of possibilities.

Imagine if, as a child, you had been told repeatedly, “You’re not good at maths.” Would you have signed up for the science club? Or would you have quietly crossed it off your mental list of “things I can do”?

Now imagine the reverse: a parent who says, “I see you’re finding this tricky right now, but you can always get better with practice.” That’s not just encouragement—it’s leaving the door open.

One of the simplest ways to avoid boxing your child in is to change how you describe them. Use verbs instead of nouns.

Instead of: “She’s shy.”
Say: “She’s feeling quiet today.”
Instead of: “He’s artistic.”
Say: “He’s been enjoying drawing lately.”
Instead of: “She’s a picky eater.”
Say: “She’s still figuring out what foods she likes.”

See the difference? The first version makes it sound fixed, permanent. The second leaves space for change. It reminds both you and your child that traits and preferences can evolve and you don’t have to define yourself by how you feel on a day or stretch of days.

Here’s the tricky bit: even if you stop labeling your child, other people won’t. Family, teachers, even other kids at school will slap on descriptions, often with the same casual ease as commenting on the weather.

You can’t control what others say, but you can control how you respond. If someone says, “Your daughter’s so shy,” you can gently reframe: “She likes to get to know people before opening up.” If a teacher says, “He’s not academic,” you can respond, “He’s been exploring lots of hands-on learning lately.”

It’s subtle, but over time, those reframes can help chip away at fixed perceptions.
One of the best gifts we can give our children is the permission to be many things at once. To be quiet sometimes and loud at others. To be a budding artist who also loves cricket. To be a science enthusiast who enjoys baking. Not because we’re pushing them to be something they’re not, but because we’re giving them the chance to discover all the things they could be.

Many of us grew up under the weight of labels ourselves. Maybe you were “the smart one” or “the troublemaker” or “the pretty one.” Think back—did those labels feel liberating, or did they box you in?

I’ve met women who still carry the echoes of those early identities, for better or worse. A “pretty girl” who hates that she is defined by something so superficial. A “maths dunce” who avoided anything numerical, even when she might have enjoyed it. A “wild child” who struggled to be taken seriously as an adult.

Remembering how those labels felt can help us break the cycle for our own kids.
This month, I’m challenging myself – and inviting you – to drop the labels and see our children with fresh eyes. The next time you’re tempted to say, “She’s shy” or “He’s the sporty one,” take a breath. Replace it with something that reflects the moment, not the myth.

Our kids are not one-dimensional. They’re complex, surprising, ever-evolving little humans. Let’s give them the space to be all of that—and more.
Because the most beautiful thing we can say about a child is not “She is this” or “He is that,” but simply: “I can’t wait to see who they become.”