Language wasn’t made for communication. It was made for creation.
Words carry weight for me. When I feel grounded, my sweet spot of happiness, I choose my words carefully. Every word I speak, every sentence I write, holds intention.
But if I’m being honest? It wasn’t always about clarity or meaning. More often than not, it was about control. About making sure I said the “right” thing, so I wouldn’t say the wrong one. About keeping the peace. About making myself smaller.
It still is sometimes. (I guess we never really stop growing up, do we?)
Anyway..
Words have a strange, powerful place in my mind, my heart, my soul. And I’ve never really talked about it–at least, not in the way I want to. Not even with the people I love most. I’ve tried, but I don’t think I’ve ever quite nailed what I’m trying to say.
So here we are. My blog. My thoughts. My best attempt yet.
Let’s get personal.
I have a lot of respect for words, but I never gave them the importance I’ve grown to have for them now.
Baring my soul here… I never thought I could be a writer or a poet or anything like that, talk about self worth, or lack thereof am I right? But that’s changing now, and the more I write, speak with intention, the more my real feelings about things unravel. It’s pretty awesome actually.
Writing has given me something I never expected. Permission.
Permission to say things out loud. To acknowledge my wins. To put my thoughts somewhere real.
Because for the longest time, I was obsessed with achievement.
Not for the sake of growth.
Not even for myself.
But because I thought I had to prove something.
That I was smart enough.
Sharp enough.
Worthy enough.
Especially as a woman, because let’s be real, some of that internalized sexism runs deep, stitched into the fabric of who we were taught to be.
But the older I get, the more I realise, none of it actually matters. Not in the way I thought it did.
All that time, I wasn’t feeding my soul. I was feeding the little fucker in my head.
We all have one, don’t we?
That voice that whispers doubt, that craves validation, that keeps score of things that don’t really count.
I’m convinced it’s buried somewhere in the limbic system.
Not the part that feels or remembers.
But the part that reacts, pulling levers like an old machine running outdated programs.
Not from my soul.
Not from truth.
But from the unhealed parts of me that still think survival means proving something.
Why the limbic system? Because when our emotions run unchecked, that’s the part of our brain pulling the strings. It’s wired for survival, not wisdom, pushing us to react from fear instead of responding with intention.
Our prefrontal cortex, though? That’s where our peace is practiced and experienced. That’s where we choose how to respond. Where we manage our emotions instead of letting them manage us.
It’s called metacognition, the ability to think about our own thinking. (Cool word, right?)
Gosh, neuroscience is awesome.
But most of us don’t even realize how much our limbic system is running the show. And if we don’t understand where our emotions come from, how can we ever break free from the patterns that hold us back?
We’re all in this together. And that means the work we do on ourselves is the work we do for each other.
Back to my love/fear relationship with words.
I know that words, especially in the 21st century, carry different meanings depending on the intent behind them. I’ve called myself (out loud) a bitch, an asshole, silly, a fucker… and I didn’t think twice about it.
I’ve also called myself stupid.
But that? That one never sat right.
It took me a while to realise why, but I know now: If it doesn’t feel right to call myself stupid, then why would I use it to describe anyone else?
Here’s why.
None of us are actually stupid. We’re all just running around with unprocessed trauma like there’s no tomorrow. We all have different moral compasses. And as much as we’d love to believe that everyone should share the same one (trust me, I’ve been there, still there in some moments), that’s just not how it works.
Yes, we’ve created laws, necessary ones. Don’t kill each other, for example. Simple, right? But then you zoom out, and suddenly it’s more complicated. Killing animals, destroying the planet to keep up with our current overconsumption… We wont go down that philosophical topic today.
So where does that instinct come from? I’d bet it has something to do with the part of us that craves control. And that craving for control? It spirals into the need to control others. And before you know it…
BOOM our internal power struggles have shaped the entire world.
So no, we’re not stupid. We may do stupid things. We may act out of fear, ego, or ignorance. But at our core? We’re just humans, trying (and sometimes failing) to navigate the mess.
We humans have the capacity to love and to fear(hate).
It’s up to us to choose the former and let the latter serve us in a different way.
Not as a weight. Not as a chain.
But as fuel for art.
Seriously, this is what I believe.
I know it might seem naïve. And when I use this word, it’s for specific people, people who see the world as inherently negative. A word designed to disarm the little fucker in their brain before it goes into full-blown defense mode, trying to protect their belief system.
I feel silly sometimes doing it, cause I shouldn’t downplay my belief, ever, to anyone.
BUT… I’ve learned that meeting people where they are is sometimes the only way to help them see beyond their fear.
Because shifting from fear to love? It’s hard. One of the hardest things we can do as humans.
It forces us to let go of the comfort of victimhood. When we’re in a fear-based mindset, it feels good to be the victim. It validates us. It justifies our pain.
But at the end of the day?
That’s all it is! A temporary state of mind. Until we choose to think otherwise.
Yes, yes, easier said than done.
But not impossible. Laughter helps. (More on that another time.)
But back to the words.
If you’ve made it this far, maybe you’re starting to see it too, how just two words hold an entire universe beneath them.
Like the bottom half of an iceberg, hidden beneath the water.
The part no one sees. The part holding everything up.
It has been exhausting, at times, to filter all of this. To speak from my limbic system instead of my prefrontal cortex. To catch myself before fear becomes the driver.
But if there’s one thing I know?
I’m grateful for this word journey.
And now we get to the fun part.
At least, I think it’s fun.
Words are spells.
Not just metaphorically, but literally. The word spell itself is rooted in spel, an Old English term meaning to recite, narrate, or tell a story. And what is storytelling if not shaping the world around us?
Language has always been a tool for creation. The way we speak defines reality. Every culture, every civilization, has used words not just for communication, but for power.
The Egyptians believed words could manifest reality, hence their sacred hieroglyphics.
In ancient Nordic traditions, runes weren’t just letters; they were magic symbols believed to shape destiny.
The word grammar comes from the same root as grimoire, a book of spells. Because in the past? Knowing how to write was literal magic.
But somewhere along the way, we forgot.
We speak without understanding. We write without considering. We toss words around as if they hold no weight, when in truth, they carry centuries of meaning.
And here’s the wild part: Words are constantly evolving. Some meanings get lost. Others get reshaped.
Which can be a good thing.
Because some words? They were never meant to empower.
They were crafted to divide, to oppress, to strip people of their worth.
But language is alive. And over time, we’ve seen something remarkable, people reclaiming those very words. Stripping them of their venom. Flipping the script on their meaning.
Which is fascinating. But also raises a question…
If words were originally created to connect us, how did they become the very thing that divides us? And more importantly…
How do we take back their power? By being intentional with our words.
So yes, I care about words. And I think you should too.
Because like I said earlier (and I don’t think this applies only to me) when I’m intentional with the words I choose, when I respond instead of react, I don’t just speak. I mean what I say.
And maybe that’s what we’re missing today.
Because when we communicate with real intention, when our words align with our mind, heart, and voice, it’s hard to be misunderstood.
It’s not easy.
And sure, all words are technically made up. It’s us who give them meaning.
But many of the words we toss around so easily carry a universe of history, weight, and power that we don’t always respect.
Some were meant to uplift. Some were meant to wound. Some have changed shape over time, evolving into something new.
And yet, we use them without thought. Without intention. Without realizing that language isn’t just something we use, it’s something that uses us if we’re not paying attention.
When we’re reacting instead of responding, Freud had a point. We are speaking a kind of truth.
But it’s not the whole truth.
It’s the limbic truth. The truth of unhealed wounds. Of fear, of impulse, of past experiences we haven’t yet processed.
Not the truth that comes from clarity. From intention. From healing.
And if words are spells, if language shapes our reality, shouldn’t we be a little more careful with the ones we cast?
Ok my rant is over, thank you for making it to the end, and I hope this sparks a new line of thought and action of how you can shape your reality.
Much love
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