In 2015, I was in Memphis, Tennessee. I had been invited to speak to a group of young people about making positive life choices. That morning, while getting dressed in my hotel room around 7 a.m., I turned on the local news. I was preparing to leave shortly for an interview on that very station to promote my talk later that day. As I was tying my tie, I heard something that made my heart drop. A segment came on about my upcoming appearance — and I’ll never forget the words: “Ex-con Kevin Shird will be here in Memphis today to speak with a group of young kids about making positive life choices.”

Ex-con.

I stood there stunned. I couldn’t believe in 2015 that word was still being used — on live television, no less — to describe someone who had long since paid his debt to society and dedicated his life to public service. I wasn’t being introduced as an author. Not as a national speaker. Not as someone who had founded a nonprofit, helped kids in underserved communities or worked on national drug policy. No. To them, I was still “ex-con Kevin Shird.” That moment stays with me to this day — not because it hurt, but because it revealed just how stuck we are in the language of stigma and shame.

Let’s be clear: Words matter. And in America, the words we use to describe people who’ve been incarcerated — ex-con, ex-offender, felon, inmate, even returning citizen — are often less about accuracy and more about branding. Branding people. Marking them. Keeping them in a box. These labels travel with you. They show up in headlines, introductions, job applications, housing paperwork and news broadcasts. They follow you into rooms where people have already decided who you are before you speak a single word.

I don’t want to be called an “ex” anything. I don’t want to be a subject of someone’s redemption trope or a walking cautionary tale. I’m Kevin. I’m a man who made mistakes, yes — but also a man who transformed his life, found purpose and works every day to help others do the same. I’m more than what I’ve done. We all are.

The evolution of these labels is interesting — and revealing. “Ex-con” is perhaps the most loaded. It’s a term that conjures up images of hardened criminals, danger and suspicion. It’s a label straight out of the crime blotter. It’s used by media to sensationalize a story, to create a stark contrast between “us” and “them.” For decades, that term has stripped people of dignity and flattened their humanity.

In more recent years, terms like “ex-offender” and “returning citizen” emerged as attempts to soften the blow. And while I appreciate the intention, I still find them inadequate. “Ex-offender” still frames a person by their worst mistake. It still centers the offense — not the person. “Returning citizen” is a little more human, but it still defines people by absence and incarceration rather than presence and potential.

It’s time we ask: Why are we still calling people by the name of what they used to be? When someone finishes chemotherapy, we don’t call them an “ex-cancer patient.” When someone leaves the military, we don’t say “ex-soldier” in a way that reduces their worth. So why is incarceration the one experience that follows people with a permanent label?

This obsession with labels is deeply tied to how the media profits from storytelling. Sensationalizing someone’s past makes for a more dramatic headline, especially if that person has managed to rise above their circumstances. It’s easier to say, “Ex-con speaks to kids” than “Author shares wisdom.” One grabs eyeballs; the other asks for understanding. But the media doesn’t just report — the media shapes perception. And that perception impacts real lives: the jobs we don’t get, the housing we’re denied, the assumptions people make about our worth.

The language we use reveals what we value. And right now, society shows more interest in where someone’s been than where they’re going.

I’m not asking for pity. I’m asking for dignity. I’m asking us to stop branding people by their worst day. I’m asking us to start seeing people for who they are — not just what they’ve done. It starts with language. It starts with calling people by their names.

So no, I’m not “ex-con Kevin Shird.”

I’m not “ex-offender Kevin Shird.”

I’m not a “returning citizen.”

Just call me Kevin.

Kevin Shird (kevin.shird@yahoo.com), a Baltimore native, is the author of “A Life for a Life: Poor Choices and Unresolved Trauma Is Killing America.”