“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can’t hurt me.”
Really?
As a child growing up in the Caribbean, those words were my shield, my flimsy armor. I’d say them with defiance, tongue sticking out, whenever a friend, classmate, or cousin took aim at my acne-riddled face, my bony frame, my too-wide forehead—what they called a “five-head.” They mocked my personality, my hand-me-downs, my awkwardness.
At the time, it sounded like a sensible retort. After all, mere words could never cut as deep as a stick or a stone. But even then, I knew better. Even then, I felt the sting.
Years later, in an abusive marriage, I learned just how much weight words could carry.
Yes, the beatings hurt. But when the bruises faded, when my body stopped aching, it was the words that lingered. Words designed to shrink me, humiliate me, make me feel like nothing.
“So barren and useless.”
“I could kill you now.”
“F%$k you and this marriage.”
Those words stayed long after the blows stopped falling, long after the doors he locked behind me swung open again. They burrowed into my mind, played on a loop in my head, made me question everything—who I was, what I was worth, whether I was somehow to blame.
I have a thin scar on my nose from the surgery that resulted from the last beating. It will likely never fade. And yet, the scar doesn’t haunt me. It is just a remnant of a past that shaped me, but does not define me.
The words, though—those words took longer to heal.
The Power of Words
We say words don’t hurt because they lack physicality. But we know better. We know their sting can last far beyond the moment they’re spoken.
Words shape us. They can build, or they can break. They can be weapons, sharp and deliberate, aimed straight at the heart. And if we’re not careful, we start to believe them.
I did.
I went from being self-assured to doubting everything. If the man who once vowed to love me could now spew such hate, what did that say about me? Was I the trigger? Did I deserve this? Was there something wrong with me?
Questions upon questions, all born from words meant to wound.
But here’s what I came to understand, what I think I always knew:
What people say is often a reflection of their own heart, their own pain, their own brokenness. Violence is about control, but words? Words are meant to cut.
Breaking Free
So how do we deal with words?
First, we acknowledge their power. We stop pretending they don’t hurt. They do. I knew it as a child when I ran home crying after being teased. I knew it as an adult, locked in a cycle of verbal and physical abuse.
Then, we process them.
I’ve learned that hurting people hurt others. It’s a cliché, yes, but one rooted in truth. The person delivering the pain is often carrying their own deep wounds. My ex-husband was a man burdened by rejection, bad choices, shame, and abandonment. He carried his past into our marriage, into our home, into his words. He didn’t love himself, and he certainly didn’t love me.
And that was never about me.
When someone lashes out, when their words are cruel and cutting, it says far more about them than it does about you. A person at peace doesn’t need to tear others down.
Reclaiming Yourself
Never define yourself by the words of others.
If you do, you’ll end up with a distorted version of yourself, shaped by someone else’s wounds and insecurities. Your worth is not determined by their opinions, their insults, their projections.
For a long time, I let his words define me. I let them chip away at my confidence, my sense of self. But not anymore.
I know who I am now. I am not the insults. I am not the accusations. I am not the sum of someone else’s bitterness.
And neither are you.
You are beautiful.
You are worthy.
You are a masterpiece, a designer’s original.
Yes, words have power. But you have the power to decide which words you hold onto. Let them be the ones that build you up, not the ones that break you down.
Let them be truth, not someone else’s brokenness disguised as judgment.
And always remember—their mess is not your reflection.
Leave a Reply