Hey Reader,

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In Feb 2015, I was fired.

I avoided as many eyes as possible as I scrambled to gather my things and exit like the floor was hot coal.

Then I passed the intern’s desk and felt his eyes like daggers in my ribs. For a nanosecond, the knots in my stomach released. It was the last time I'd endure his backhanded jabs and the intricate knots weaved into my intestines by the culture when I sat at my desk each morning.

This was my first job as a Canadian immigrant and a software engineer.

The time on my work permit was slipping through my fingers like sand—only a few months left to hold down a job to secure my residency.

What a start.

To this day, 8+ years later, every calendar 1:1 invite from a manager feels like I've been handed a live grenade with a shaky pin. Weeks spent worrying it would explode into unemployment and deportation.

I started 3 months prior, and my heart didn’t just do a backflip; it did an entire Olympic gymnastics routine when I got the job offer.

This was it; I made it.

Psych! Like a half-eaten jerk chicken you forgot in the fridge, I got tossed out like food scraps.

Imagine the panic nosedive into the void that gripped me. Except I didn't have time to eat the self-pity-flavoured ice cream, label myself a failure and question whether I was cut out for the role.

Time was ticking on that permit.

Every interview was tinged with the heartbreak of possibly leaving Canada, the 'not good enough' branding from my previous gig still raw.

The “We found a more ‘senior’ candidate” emails that followed reopened the wound every time.

The most difficult interview was an entire day, a whirlwind of meetings and lunch with the team. It ended with a final coding test with the 10-person team watching each keystroke directly behind me. Needing to shake off the pressure afterward, I strolled the mall, bracing for weeks of suspense and a rejection email, only to receive an offer in 60 minutes.

Here is what I learned:

We obsess over labels and titles.

We meticulously stitch them onto our identity. "Introvert." "Senior." "VP." "Not tech-savvy." "Too old." "Exec." “Not smart enough,” “Not creative enough.” They can be comforting, providing a bit of order and definition in a world of chaos. However, they can be like chains binding us to perceptions that never did serve us.

Our potential isn’t defined by the roles we’ve lost, gained or the setbacks we’ve faced. Our unrelenting spirit, capacity to adapt and mastery at taming the doubt in our minds define it.

If you label yourself as an "employee," regardless of the title, when you actually want to be an entrepreneur, you'll only do what's expected of an employee. Brand yourself as a "failure," and you’ll find yourself stuck in a self-fulfilling prophecy.

In a recent career pivot to entrepreneurship, I hesitated to put myself out there to write about my journey online and build a personal brand.

Burdened by self-assumed labels: "introvert," "wannabe entrepreneur," and "aspiring writer."

However, just as I overcame past setbacks and labels that made me question my worth, I started my newsletter, published six issues, and grew to a few dozen subscribers.

Remember this: labels are meant for jars, not people.

While society keeps churning out labels to fit every nuance, there's only one label you truly need: The Person Who Figures Shit Out.