Why labels matter, even when they make some people uncomfortable.

Sometimes a Label Is Actually a Relief

Today, some people still resist speaking about learning disabilities and neurodevelopmental diagnoses, especially if they grew up in a time when these things weren't talked about or understood. I often hear comments like, “Everyone is trying to get diagnosed with something these days. Back in my day, when boys had lots of energy and didn't want to sit down and pay attention in a classroom, we knew that’s just how boys are.”

I understand where comments like this comes from. Kids are energetic, and boys are sometimes restless and distracted. I’m not saying every child who struggles to sit still has ADHD, or every child who has difficulty at school needs a diagnosis; however, there is a big difference between a child who occasionally has trouble paying attention and a child whose attention, working memory, organization, impulse control, or emotional regulation consistently makes school and everyday life much harder.

Saying things like “that’s just how boys are” can sound reassuring, but it can also mean that children who are genuinely struggling won’t get the help they need. Rather than “protecting” kids from the “shame” of a diagnosis, a fear of labels can actually instill in that very shame within them. For instance, a child who struggles to read may conclude that they're stupid, or a child with ADHD who struggles with memory and organization may conclude that they're lazy. Even some adults, who spend their lives struggling with things that seemed easy for everyone else, may eventually believe there is simply something wrong with them.

It’s important to remember that a diagnosis doesn’t create the problem, it simply gives the problem a name and helps the person see it as a part of who they are, not the totality of who they are. Indeed, research shows that diagnostic labels aren't inherently good or bad. While some diagnoses do have stigmas (and we need to be thoughtful about that), labels can help people understand themselves, reduce misplaced self-blame, and identify appropriate supports and strategies. Pretending that differences don't exist doesn’t protect people. Instead, naming our differences, and giving people the right words to describe ourselves, is exactly what allows us to stop blaming ourselves and start getting the support we need. In this way, using a label can be incredibly useful.

If you know you have dyslexia, you can stop assuming that you just need to work harder at reading and start looking at approaches that are actually designed to support the way you learn, such as specialized literacy instruction, assistive technology, audiobooks, accommodations, or different ways of approaching schoolwork. Work smarter, not harder!

If you have ADHD, you can start looking at things like organizational systems, environmental changes, routines, counselling, accommodations, and, when appropriate, medication with a qualified healthcare professional. Medication isn't a moral failure or a shortcut; for some people, it’s simply another tool that can make the other strategies more effective.

Moreover, a diagnosis should not tell someone they can’t do things; instead, it should help them figure out how they can do things.

For example, there’s a huge distinction between these two statements:

“You have dyslexia, and there's nothing you can do.”

“You have dyslexia, so let's figure out what your brain needs in order to learn this.”

The first is limiting, while the second is empowering, which is particularly important when we're talking about children. For a child who’s working incredibly hard already, “You just need to try harder” might sound like “You're not trying hard enough.” If they hear that often enough, they may stop asking for help altogether, because needing help will start to feel like evidence that they're failing.

If our goal is to protect children from shame, then simply refusing to acknowledge a learning difference does not accomplish that. A child without a diagnosis can still realize some things are harder for them. They can still compare themselves to their classmates. They can still feel frustrated, embarrassed, or isolated. They can still wonder why everyone else seems to be able to do something that they can't.

A diagnosis gives families and individuals a starting point for making educated decisions. It can help explain what’s happening, identify strengths and weaknesses, guide educational strategies, and open the door to various forms of support. A diagnosis also gives language to students to communicate their needs and differences to peers and teachers.

To conclude, I don’t think the goal should be to diagnose everyone, but to understand people accurately and wholly. Not every energetic boy has ADHD, and not every struggling reader has dyslexia, but some do, and refusing to acknowledge these learning difference doesn't make them disappear, but simply means they might spend years trying to figure it out without vital information that could have helped them.

And sometimes, the most compassionate thing we can say to someone who has spent years wondering “What's wrong with me?” is this:

“Nothing is wrong with you. Your brain works differently, and now we have some information that can help you figure out what you need.”