The underestimated power of words

It’s so easy just to say something, isn’t it?  Words can often come tumbling out of our mouths with little thought as to what impact they might have. They’re just words, right, what do they really matter??

If I think back to the last time my hubby and I had a heated conversation, I remember that tug to escalate, to prove myself right even if it meant stretching or bending the truth somewhat, exaggerating for effect to prove my point. In the early days of our marriage, I didn’t really have a brake, so the words would keep on tumbling out. I have learned more over the years how to pull myself back from the brink – out of a greater appreciation for the powerful impact words can have. In fact, I read recently that couples who are more likely to endure together are the ones who know how to break up an argument with an unexpected offering – perhaps a little compliment or joke slipped into the stream of angry words, which serves to halt the spiral.

I’m sure we can all recall times when someone else’s words have had an enormous impact on us. Words which hurt us just as much as a physical wound could – perhaps more in some cases… Perhaps the person intended to harm us, selecting their words precisely for maximum effect. Or perhaps they just spoke carelessly, with no concept of the damage their words were capable of inflicting.

And yet for years I minimised the power of words. My father’s negative impact on me revolved around words. Cutting words. Carefully chosen barbs. Searing arguments with oft repeated verbal weapons that would stay with me. Even if the words themselves eventually drifted off in the mists of time, the aura of them never left me.

For years I just couldn’t see or accept that my father’s behaviour was the source of my core problems in life. It was just words, I would say to myself and to my long suffering counsellor. And it only happened sometimes – other times, he could be nice to me, so that really couldn’t be the problem, could it?

But it was the problem. Jekyll and Hyde. A young child not knowing which version of her father was going to pitch up that day. If it was Hyde, she needed to watch herself and try and stay out of his way, out of the line of verbal fire. She needed to avoid doing anything to antagonise him further. If it was Jekyll, she could exhale and relax for the moment – except the reality was, she never really could relax, because she never knew when kind Daddy would metamorphose into angry, scary Daddy. That insecurity was a lot for her little self to handle, and her coping mechanism was always to be on the watch for danger, so that she could do her very best to stop it from materialising.

Over time, I began to appreciate what had happened to me. To understand why my world was not a happy one. Why I was constantly on edge. Why I had a fairly alarming list of mental health issues to contend with.

I began to speak my truth to my counsellor, and it was liberating but also a bit scary. You see, once the words are spoken, you can’t unsay them, you can’t row back from the searing truth that they imprint on your heart.

Emotional abuse. Two powerfully descriptive words. It literally took me years to pluck up the courage to describe my experiences with my father in these terms. I was scared of the implications, scared of what that meant about him, and scared that I would be accused of overplaying the situation. But eventually that fear was overridden by my passionate need for healing, for a path to liberation. The only way to get myself onto that path was to speak my truth.

So you can see it's a whole new level for me to come out and talk about this emotional abuse publicly. Speaking my truth without filters, on a public stage, in front of total strangers.

As I have launched Damsel Not in Distress in recent weeks, I have had moments of doubt and nervousness. A little voice niggling at me. Once you’ve said this, there’s no rowing back. But…but…he could be nice sometimes…does that mean this label is a bit unfair?

Except I know in my core that it’s not unfair. It’s the truth. It’s my truth. It’s the truth that has finally set me free. And I’m going to speak it without fear or regret. Not just for myself – although I’m sure speaking my truth in a bigger way will bring me even greater healing and liberation. But also for so many people who suffer repeatedly as a result of emotional abuse. Abuse that perhaps, like me for so many years, they don’t know how to label or explain yet. Or maybe they recognise it but aren’t at liberty to talk about it.

I’m going to speak my truth for them, and for me.

And rest assured I truly appreciate the power of words, so I will choose mine carefully.