When Words Become Wounds

When Words Become Wounds

A Reflection on Verbal Abuse, Healing, and the Power of Gentle Speech

By Kateb Shunnar

They say words are just air, passing sounds that vanish once spoken, but I don’t buy that. I’ve lived long enough, I’ve seen enough, and I’ve felt enough to know words carry weight sometimes heavier than stones. Bruises fade, bones mend, but words? They stay. They echo in the back of your mind when the world grows quiet, they replay in your chest when you’re trying to rest, and they rise up in your throat when you least expect it. Whoever made up that old saying, “sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me,” clearly never had their identity shredded by a sharp tongue. Maybe it was just wishful thinking, or maybe they wanted to believe that words couldn’t pierce the spirit. But let me tell you, they can and they do.

When verbal or emotional abuse becomes a way of life in a home, it doesn’t just sting in the moment, it reshapes the very way a person sees themselves. Little by little, confidence gets chipped away until all that’s left is doubt. It’s like throwing paint thinner on a canvas you start with something bright and beautiful, but strip by strip the colors fade until only dullness remains. And it’s not only the mind that suffers. The body carries that weight too. Chronic stress from being ridiculed or screamed at makes the heart beat faster, pushes the blood pressure higher, wrecks sleep, and eats away at the immune system. You look at someone who lives in that environment and you can see the exhaustion in their face, the slumped shoulders, the way joy drains from their eyes. It’s invisible bruises covering every part of them.

Children are the most fragile in this storm. Their minds are like fresh clay, easily shaped, easily marked. When harsh words are thrown at them, those words don’t just bounce off they press deep into the clay, leaving imprints that last a lifetime. Instead of hearing, “you’re precious, you’re capable, you’re loved,” they grow up under constant echoes of “you’re stupid, you’re nothing, you’ll never be enough.” And here’s the tragedy: many of them carry that script right into adulthood. They choose partners who mirror the voices they grew up with. They settle for jobs beneath their abilities because they don’t think they’re worthy of more. They flinch at kindness because it feels so unfamiliar. It’s not just abuse in the moment; it’s programming for years to come.

Now, I don’t just want to talk about the problem, because that would leave us all sinking in heaviness. I want to call something out in love: we need to watch our mouths. Please, I mean that sincerely watch your mouth. Every sentence that comes out of your lips either plants flowers or scatters thorns. You may forget what you said ten minutes later, but the person on the other side of those words may carry them for ten years. It might take them decades to unlearn what you spit out in anger or sarcasm. Words don’t vanish into thin air; they settle in people’s spirits like seeds. And seeds grow.

There’s an old piece of folklore about a village where every spoken word turned visible. Sweet words became bright feathers that floated through the air, landing softly on the shoulders of the one receiving them, bringing warmth and lightness. But cruel words turned into sharp, heavy feathers that stuck into the skin, weighing people down, cutting into them. At first, the villagers thought it was amusing to see insults hanging in the air. But after years of spewing poison, the children of that village couldn’t play like before. Their backs bent under the weight, their steps slowed, their laughter grew quiet. The whole place darkened. One day, an elder cried out to the Creator for help, and the Creator answered, “I gave you words as gifts, as medicine, as fire to warm not fire to destroy. If you wish for light again, guard your tongues as carefully as you guard the flames that cook your food.” And from that day, those villagers learned to pause before speaking, because once a feather left the mouth, it could never be taken back.

I’ve always loved that story because it’s truer than true. Our words are feathers, light or heavy, healing or hurting, and once they leave us, they don’t disappear. They live on in someone’s heart, in their memory, in the way they carry themselves. We can’t snatch them back once they’ve landed. That’s why I’m saying this like a plea: choose wisely.

I’ve seen firsthand how verbal abuse ripples through lives. A child torn down at home grows into an adult who doesn’t trust anyone. A spouse constantly ridiculed eventually withdraws, shrinking smaller and smaller until they feel invisible. Friends stop confiding because they’re tired of being mocked. And here’s the heartbreaking cycle people who were victims often end up becoming abusers themselves, not because they’re evil but because it’s all they know. It’s like a curse that keeps passing down through families, through generations. But listen to me: cycles can be broken. Darkness doesn’t get the last word. The Creator does.

See, I believe full healing doesn’t come just from therapy, or from time, or even from leaving a toxic environment though those things matter. The deepest healing comes from turning back to the Creator, because His voice is different from every harsh word you’ve ever endured. Where people said, “you’re worthless,” He whispers, “you are fearfully and wonderfully made.” Where they mocked, He affirms, “you are My beloved.” Where they silenced you, He says, “I delight in your voice.” The Creator’s words are not like human words they don’t cut, they restore. They don’t curse, they bless.

I remember a season in my own life where criticism wore me thin. I was constantly second-guessing myself, shrinking smaller and smaller. One day, I sat under a tree, just broken. In that quiet, I felt this deep whisper rise up inside of me: “You are Mine. You are not what they said. You are more.” That whisper didn’t erase all the pain in an instant, but it lit a candle inside me that no insult could snuff out. And slowly, I started to believe again. That’s why I know healing is possible because I’ve tasted it myself.

Now, if you’ve been on the other side of this if you’ve been the one throwing words like knives I’m going to be direct: it’s time to stop. Today. Don’t wait for tomorrow, don’t wait for “when you’re less stressed.” Stop now. You might think you’re joking, or that people should toughen up, but what you call “jokes” might be the exact words that push someone over the edge. I’m not saying this to condemn you, I’m saying it to shake you awake. You can change. You can choose a softer tone. You can be the one who builds instead of the one who destroys. Don’t let your mouth be a graveyard; let it be a garden.

And here’s the thing we often think this is just a private issue, just something that happens in homes, but it spreads much wider. A child belittled at home becomes a bully at school. A spouse torn down at home lashes out at work. A person carrying decades of ridicule approaches the world with suspicion, mistrust, and fear. Multiply that by thousands, and you start to see why communities crack, why prejudice spreads, why even nations crumble. Wars begin with words. Hatred spreads through words. But so does healing. So does peace. So does hope. Words can destroy, but they can also rebuild.

So, to the one who’s been wounded, let me speak directly to you: you are not the names they called you. You are not the shame they tried to dump on you. You are not the insults, the sarcasm, the ridicule. You are more. You are worthy of gentleness, of kindness, of care. The Creator sees you beyond all of that, and His words about you are never abusive they are healing, they are restoring, they are full of compassion.

And to the one who’s been abusing, I’ll say it one more time because it matters: stop. Please stop. Your words matter more than you realize, and once they leave your lips, you can’t gather them back. You don’t want your children, your partner, your friends, your community, carrying your heavy feathers for the rest of their lives. You want to be remembered for light, for kindness, for encouragement, not for darkness. Choose life with your tongue.

So let’s make a promise to ourselves, right here, right now. Let’s be people who think before speaking. Let’s be people who ask, “Will this plant flowers or scatter thorns?” Let’s pause before we lash out, before we mock, before we cut someone down. And let’s listen for the Creator’s voice, because His voice is always worth echoing. Words don’t vanish; they live on. May ours be words that heal, words that carry light, words that future generations remember with gratitude, not with pain.