The Power of Words to Hurt and Heal: Drive Them Wisely

Do you remember yesterday morning, when someone who you trusted insulted you?
Of course you do. All of it was unwarranted.
But you felt hurt. Disappointed.
You read all the emails again. The WhatsApp messages still churn in your mind.
Late that evening you sent a message to another close friend, confiding in them, asking them to
be “your voice of reason,” and to help you make sense of the hurt.
The next morning, back in the real world, you wield your armor: “It is what it is.”
And you carry on.

The hurt sticks. Symptoms are treated with painkillers and tranquilizers: real pills, or platitudes.
Rewind. Go back two years. Sometimes we stumble across the noise from long ago.
Emails and messages that carried bad conversations: old hurtful words.
Those words often look dull and trivial years after the fact.
But that twist in the gut serves as a reminder of what you felt back then.

I often write about platitudes, such as “sticks and stones can break my bones, but words can’t really harm me.”
Platitudes negate the emotional cost associated with speech that has no boundaries.
After all, it’s the words, from an unnecessary telephone call, early on a Sunday morning that spikes your adrenaline.
Words make all the difference in our lives. Three small words “I love you” can be all you needed to pull you through a tough patch.
Two small words, “It’s over,” is enough to make a life collapse.
But now, I’m turning my gaze at you, the one who found this note.
What do you do, practically, to be more aware of what leaves your mouth, or keyboard?

I have many personal strategies to guard my words.
The strategies do fail, and I do disappoint myself, but the awareness of failure does count.
Imagine this. When you walk through a tough neighborhood, first thing you might want to do is stash your phone and wallet in a pocket that’s more protected from casual theft.
It’s different from those times when you are with people you know and trust.
When you visit, you will leave your keys, wallet and phone on a desk.
Even then, you will read the room. Would you share all that’s on your phone with everyone in that safer space?
This becomes the essence of awareness.
And I love the analogy of a seasoned race-car driver.
He seeks awareness of the track where he will compete. He walks the track prior to the race.
Mental notes are made of the dangerous corners.
He sizes up the other drivers and cars.
He stays fit.

In conversations, I’m still amazed, after all these years, how little awareness filters into conversations.
Jokes and mouth-flapping easily hurt others and it’s all fine, until you are on the receiving end.
The race car driver will experience setbacks, like you will experience getting your ego trampled on, or your value getting questioned.
That’s when you review the footage of what went wrong, and begin fresh the next morning.
Acknowledge all that happened, but steer clear of the platitudes.
I learned not to use “It is what it is.” I use grownup words instead.
John from accounts called my work sloppy. That really hurt. In reality he knows nothing of what I do. I acknowledge that I’m experiencing rage. I can’t escape the anger and rage right now. I’m going to take a walk, drink a strong coffee. Allow the feelings and emotions to
go their course.
Then I get ready for the next morning.
Awareness will now dictate that I’m zipping up my valuables in a deeper proverbial pocket next time I encounter John.
I won’t reveal all my weak spots; I’ll allow him to speak, and when I’m prepared for those dumb callous words, I see them in more controllable context.

Long ago, I enjoyed the company of an uncle who excelled at cards.
I can’t play to save my life.
So, watching him was a masterclass in using only the words and language of restraint and control that moved his game forward.
He refused to indulge in insults or cheap tricks to win.
Losing was always on the table, he knew that.
So next time you open your mouth or hit send, remember: words aren’t just noise—they’re the track you race on, the cards you play. Choose them wisely, and drive home safe.