When identity becomes the frame that frees you, not the fence that traps you.

The Frame We Build Around Ourselves

We live in a world that loves to name things.

From personality tests to job titles, we spend our lives collecting labels. Some come from other people. Some, we quietly stamp on ourselves. We tell ourselves these labels are “clarity.” We say they help us understand who we are. But very often, they slowly become cages.

I used to believe that naming something was always helpful. Naming brings patterns into focus. Naming feels like control. But there is a hidden danger when the name becomes the whole story. When INFP, entrepreneur, parent or “emotional” slowly turns from description into destiny.

The same words that help us make sense of who we are can quietly decide how far we go.

A classification describes. A label defines.

Classification says, “This is what I tend to do.”

Labeling says, “This is all I will ever be.”

The problem is not the label itself. The problem is when we start treating it like a sentence. Once that happens, we no longer use labels to understand our life. We use them to limit our life.

Growth always requires the willingness to outgrow. That is the heart of this paradox. The same categories that help us know ourselves can also limit who we become, if we do not pay attention to how we hold them.

A Funeral, an Airport, and a Quiet Question

If you want to see what really lives in your heart, follow yourself into a funeral and then into your car the next morning.

It was 7 November 2025, 8:36 a.m.

I was driving alone to the airport to pick up our coach. Morning humidity hung over Johor Bahru as I drove. For many people, “me time” means doing nothing. For me, me time is something else. It is when the car becomes a moving space for reflection. Not resting, but thinking. Talking to God. Talking to myself. Trying to make sense of the previous day.

The night before, I was at a funeral.

A good friend of mine had lost both his parents within 6 months. First his mother. Then his father. He had moved back from Kuala Lumpur and spent 4.5 years caring for his bedridden father. Every single day. Bathing him. Feeding him. Turning him in bed. Wiping him. Talking to him.

It was not 4.5 weeks. It was 4.5 years.

As he shared his story, I thought of my own father. His father was 1 year younger than mine, yet their conditions were worlds apart. His father lay immobilised for years. My father still walks, laughs and enjoys his food.

Biologically, the age was almost the same. Physically, the reality could not be more different.

Of course, genetics plays a role. Lifestyle plays a role. There is a part of life we cannot control. We talk about managing our health, reducing sugar, exercise, sleep. We talk about extending our days. But at the end of the day, our lives are still in God’s hands.

Ecclesiastes 7 says it is better to go to a house of mourning than to a house of feasting, because death is the destiny of everyone and the living should take it to heart. For thousands of years, wisdom has pointed us back to funerals as classrooms. Modern research says something similar in different language. When we sit in grief and think deeply, the parts of our brain involved in self reflection and future planning become more active. Reflection resets our priorities.

At that funeral, we shared stories and also talked about gratitude. Gratitude is not a side dish. It is a survival skill. People who practise gratitude consistently tend to sleep better, handle stress better and even feel more hopeful about the future. Gratitude does not change the facts, but it changes where your heart chooses to stand.

The next morning, after sending my children to school, I kissed 2 girls. One was my daughter. One was my wife. One 4 months old, one an adult. In that simple moment, I told myself, “I lack nothing.” Gratitude is not just a feeling. It is the decision to see what has been given, instead of only staring at what is missing.

Later, during the funeral conversations, we drifted into MBTI. Someone asked for my type. I said, “INFP.” One friend responded immediately, half joking, “Wah, INFP is the saddest personality type in the world.” Everyone laughed. I laughed too. But inside, something shifted.

Because there are days where I do feel like the saddest person in the world.

The Myers Briggs Type Indicator, MBTI, was originally created during World War 2 by Katharine Cook Briggs and Isabel Briggs Myers to help people find work that suited their natural preferences. It was never meant to be a permanent verdict on a human soul. It was a tool, a way to classify preferences. But over time, people have turned it into a label.

“I am INFP, so I am like this.”

“I am introvert, so I cannot network.”

Describing becomes deciding.

That same day, I reflected on another scene. In the morning, I had visited a project done by our students and teachers. They presented confidently. They showed the outcome of the journey we have taken, from preschool to international school. From ideas to actual spaces where students can explore, build and present.

From a marketing lens, I could see the strength of what we have built in Stellar. The brand front. The experience. The continuity of early years to international school.

From a human lens, I saw something else.

Stellar has quietly become a place of exposure and growth. A place where people get the chance to stretch beyond who they were last year. It is not just a workplace. It is a training ground.

Later, Yvonne made a comment that stuck. She said, “Stellar is different because it is run by an entrepreneur.”

At a Maybank premier event in Forest City, I heard the same word again. Different setting. Hotel ballroom. Suits. Name cards. Those “premier client” rooms where you meet Datuk, Tan Sri, developers and school owners.

There, I met an older Dr friend I respect. He looked at me and said, “You are more of an entrepreneur than an educator.”

Twice, in less than 24 hours, the same word was spoken over me. Entrepreneur.

Some entrepreneurs build because they genuinely want to do good for people. Some mainly want to look good. Both can talk about impact. The real difference is in the inner narrative.

Driving to the airport the next morning, that word stayed with me. And a quiet question formed.

Is “entrepreneur” a helpful classification, or has it silently become a label that limits how I see myself and others?

Classification vs Labeling

There is a fine line between understanding yourself and sentencing yourself.

A classification describes. A label defines.

Classification tells me what patterns I naturally lean towards. Labeling tells me what possibilities I am allowed to exclude.

When I say, “I am INFP,” that is information.

When I say, “I cannot lead or network because I am INFP,” that is imprisonment.

INFP is information. “I cannot lead because I am INFP” is a prison cell I lock from the inside.

When someone calls me an entrepreneur, that is recognition. When I start believing I can only exist in that entrepreneur box and not as an educator, father, writer or coach, that becomes restriction.

Psychology has a name for what happens next. When a person internalises a label, they often start behaving in ways that confirm it. “I am the weak one.” “I am the strong one.” “I am the problem child.” The label becomes a script, and we start acting out the lines.

Our self definition becomes our lid.

John Maxwell talks about the Law of the Lid in leadership, that your leadership ability sets the lid on your organisation. There is a similar law in identity. If you keep saying, “This is just who I am,” you are quietly announcing that this is as far as you are willing to grow.

Researchers who study personality over long periods have found that traits are not as fixed as we once believed. Over 10, 20, 30 years, people do change in areas like conscientiousness, emotional stability and openness, especially when they take on new roles, responsibilities and intentional growth practices. Personality is not permanent. It is shaped and reshaped by choices, seasons and environment.

Our private narrative plays an even deeper role. Each of us runs an internal story about who we are. That story joins our past memories, present challenges and imagined futures into a single line:

“I am the responsible one.”

“I am always left out.”

“I am the one who fixes everything.”

Our brain then edits our memories to fit that story. If my story is “I am always the sad one,” I will remember every sadness in high definition and quietly blur out moments of courage and joy.

This is why the labels we repeat are so powerful. They are not only words. They are editing software.

Language itself shapes reality more than we realise. The words we have, and do not have, influence what we notice and how we interpret it. If you always use the language of “cannot,” your mind stops scanning for pathways. If you start saying, “I am still learning this,” your mind begins to look for small steps forward.

Words are invisible architecture. They build the future long before it is seen.

That is why in any relationship, we are often reminded, “Do not label your spouse. Do not label your children.” Those labels become invisible walls in the relationship.

In education, this becomes even more critical. Children internalise repeated words very quickly. By the early primary years, many children already use those identity words to organise their memories and efforts. “I am the smart one.” “I am naughty.” “I am slow.” The words adults throw around in frustration become the mirrors children hold for life.

Every time we say, “You are thoughtful, you are resilient, you can try again,” we hand a child a story they can grow into. Every time we say, “You are naughty, you are hopeless, you are a problem,” we hand them a story that locks them in.

So the real question for us as leaders, parents and educators is simple.

Are we using classifications to unlock people, or labels to pin them down?

In Stellar, when we call someone “a preschool teacher,” that can be neutral. But when that phrase is used as if she is at the lowest rung, that is labeling. When we say, “She is shaping the next generation, one child at a time,” that is trajectory. Same person. Different narrative.

When I say, “I am INFP,” I am acknowledging a pattern of deep feeling, idealism and inward processing. That is classification. When I say, “INFP cannot survive in networking events like the Maybank premier night,” that is labelling. The truth is, I can walk into that room as an observer, absorb the patterns, choose 2 or 3 meaningful conversations and still be true to how God wired me.

When others call me “entrepreneur,” it is a useful description. But it becomes dangerous when I begin to see every situation only through business opportunity instead of human responsibility. “Entrepreneur” is a gift to steward, not a badge to defend.

Identity is something we steward, not a sentence we merely serve.

Be grateful for the labels that helped you begin. Be courageous enough to remove them when they no longer serve your growth.

Every box you outgrow becomes a platform you can stand on.

From Self Definition to Self Direction

If classification is not meant to become labelling, what do we do in practice?

The first act of liberation is to rewrite your private narrative.

Every person has an inner narrator. That voice is constantly telling the story of what is happening. When something goes wrong, that narrator can say, “See, you always mess this up,” or it can say, “You are learning something important here.” Over time, that inner voice becomes either a ruthless judge or a wise coach.

Gratitude is one example of how intentional practices can reshape that voice. People who keep gratitude lists consistently tend to notice more good, respond to stress with more resilience and even take better care of their health. Gratitude does not erase grief. It adds weight to grace.

If gratitude practices can reshape emotional focus, then language practices can reshape identity focus.

Here is a simple set of steps I am slowly learning to practise myself.

Step 1: Observe your language.

Listen to how you describe yourself, your spouse, your children and your team. Notice phrases that begin with “I always” or “I never.” Notice phrases that begin with “they are just.” These are potential labels. Every label is a mirror of belief.

Step 2: Ask if it is a description or a destiny.

Ask yourself, “Is this statement describing a current pattern, or am I secretly treating it as my future?” A description sounds like, “Right now, I often feel overwhelmed in big crowds.” A destiny sounds like, “I will never be able to handle big rooms.” Only one closes the door.

Your self definition becomes your lid.

Step 3: Reframe every label into an invitation.

Turn “I am bad at public speaking” into “I am still learning to communicate with clarity and courage.” This is not fake positivity. It is creating psychological room to try, fail, learn and grow. People who see their abilities as developable are more resilient and open to feedback than those who see traits as fixed. Identity flexibility predicts long term growth.

Every time we rename with purpose, we raise the lid.

Step 4: Translate titles into trajectories.

In Stellar, we can either talk in title language or trajectory language.

Title language says, “She is just a preschool teacher.”

Trajectory language says, “She is shaping the next generation, one child at a time.”

Title language says, “He is the operations guy.”

Trajectory language says, “He is the system builder who helps others thrive.”

Culture shifts when we speak as if people are on a journey, not trapped in a box. Language builds culture faster than policy.

In our PVMC, we say our purpose is to inspire the dream of a better world through innovating education and transforming lives. That transformation does not start on a whiteboard. It starts in our vocabulary. How we speak about ourselves and others either expands or shrinks the world of possibilities.

Identity is not only who you have been. It is who you are becoming, choice by choice, word by word.

The Reverse That Redefines It All

Labels control when they become conclusions.

Liberation begins when we treat them as coordinates. They show us where we are starting from, not where we are fated to end.

True freedom is not found in escaping every definition. True freedom is found in transcending the definitions that were too small in the first place.

The moment you stop defending who you have been, you finally create space to discover who you are still becoming.

You are not limited to who they said you were.

You are the person you keep choosing to become.

And every label you outgrow becomes a new language of freedom your children and your people can one day borrow.