Words.

WORDS.

They’re one of the most powerful forces on earth, and yet we use them like they’re weightless. We toss them across dinner tables, behind screens, and into heated moments without thinking about what they leave behind. And the truth is—words always leave something behind.

I’ve been both lifted and leveled by words. I’ve been encouraged by a stranger’s kindness at just the right moment, and I’ve been wrecked by the offhanded comment of someone who never even knew they cut me. Words are not neutral. They echo. They root themselves in our hearts. Some become seeds of growth. Others become scars. They have this strange ability to live rent-free in our minds, sometimes replaying years after they were said—sometimes after the person who said them has long forgotten.

There’s that old saying: “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.” I don’t know who came up with that, but they clearly never had someone they love use words as weapons. Bones can heal. Bruises fade. But words? Words bury themselves in the corners of our memories and whisper in moments of insecurity. They can stir up doubt at the worst times. They can silence confidence that was just starting to form. A careless word can unravel a person who was doing everything they could to hold it together.

And yet, it’s not just the painful words that leave a mark. Sometimes, the deepest ache comes from the words that were never spoken at all. The silence when we needed reassurance. The “I’m sorry” that never arrived. The encouragement that was withheld. The absence of words when our souls were begging to be seen. We think that silence is safer, easier—but sometimes silence speaks just as loudly, and its message is just as sharp.

I’ll be honest—I’ve been on both sides of this. I’ve said things I wish I could take back. I’ve hurt people with words spoken out of frustration or fear. I’ve also stayed silent when I should’ve spoken up—when someone needed to hear love or truth or comfort and I said nothing because I didn’t know how or because I was too wrapped up in my own world to notice theirs. That’s the thing about words. Once they’re out, you can’t unsay them. And once they’re held back, you can’t assume the moment will come again.

But words aren’t just heavy. They’re also holy. They’re sacred in what they have the power to create. A simple “I’m proud of you” can break through years of self-doubt. A sincere “I see you” can feel like water in a desert. A handwritten note, a well-timed message, a kind compliment that catches someone off guard—these are the things people hold on to when life feels too loud. I’ve watched students light up from a five-word email. I’ve seen friends crumble in gratitude after a text that reminded them they mattered. I’ve had moments where one sentence from someone else made me breathe easier when I didn’t even know I was holding my breath.

And that’s why I don’t take words lightly—not anymore. Because what we say can become someone’s memory. What we say can be the thing they cling to on a hard day. What we say might be the moment that turns someone’s pain into peace. Our words might be the difference between someone giving up or giving it one more try. That’s not exaggeration. That’s reality. That’s the power we hold every day, whether we realize it or not.

So if no one has said this to you lately—let me say it now. You matter. You are not the sum of someone else’s cruel words or careless silence. You are worthy of kindness, of truth, of love. And I hope you start by speaking those words to yourself, especially on the days when your own voice is the hardest to hear.

Say what needs saying. Say it while you still have the chance. Speak life. Speak love. Speak gently, especially when it’s hard. Speak clearly when it counts. And if you’re going to remember one thing from this reflection, let it be this: words are never just words. They’re building blocks or wrecking balls. They’re wounds or bandages. They’re fire or water. They are always something—and they always matter.

Choose them like they mean something. Because they do.

—Dr. Nick