Words Create Worlds
We can choose the ones we use…
Photo by Alex Diaz on Unsplash
When I discovered I am a Highly Sensitive Person (HSP) it was as if I’d just met myself for the first time. I remember feeling sad that I’d not realised years earlier, and imagined the difference that would have made. Flashbacks of twenty six years working in a corporate organisation came to me.
I recall the challenge of open plan offices, phones and emails pinging, too many loud people, bright lights, the atmosphere, the mood of others, and a lack of space to think and breathe. These things came and went. What stayed with me, I discovered, was much more potent.
Others’ words bleed into us like tributaries, streams or rivers that flow into larger rivers or lakes. Water is constantly flowing and feeding another body of water. And so it’s like that with words. We absorb others’ words and carry them along, they can become part of who we think we are.
“Others’ words bleed into us like tributaries…”
I was often told I was too detailed, my standards for myself were too high, that I thought too much. Occasionally told I took feedback too personally, was too earnest (that made me wince). Once I was described as Fiver1 from the film Watership Down, the rabbit who could see danger coming when others couldn’t.
At the time I hadn’t realised that was a compliment about my strong intuition, fast paced problem solving, and ability to resolve issues before they became one. I learnt that I’d put up my own dams to the encouraging words that poured in more often - creative, imaginative, great ideas, high performing, conscientious, thorough.
Books and articles about the HSP trait repeatedly, reassuringly, highlight that HSPs are drawn to the helping professions2. I felt the relief of seeing coaching included, and comfort that my instinct, that I was now doing the work I’m meant to, was true after all.
I wondered how the twine of others’ words over the years, the nature of our HSP trait, and our vocation as Coaches interlink. Which led to this piece…
She slumped down heavily, her heart sodden through. She sighed slowly, wiped the tears from her flushed cheeks. A strand of hair caught in her eye lashes. “Will this ever stop?” she pleaded with no-one in particular. “Will it always be this way?” she wondered for the millionth time. “If I get any smaller, I fear I may disappear altogether” she revealed. It was that thought that jolted her, enough was enough. She sprung up. Opened the door. Went back into the room.
She looked Her in the eyes, it was the first time she had. She held the glare that threatened hers. Before, her sea blue eyes would have been pleading, begging “please leave me alone”. Now she tasted the iron of blood as she bit into the inside of her cheek. She swallowed the lump threatening to strangle her voice again. Her fingernails gouged little red crescent moons across her palms.
“I can’t do this anymore. You don’t get to talk to me this way. It’s over” she blurted out. She witnessed the spark in the eyes that sneered back and heard “who do you think you are?” before Her lips even moved. She heard the laughter mocking her again. Making her feel foolish. She dug her nails in deeper, winced at the feeling of electricity starting to zing. Then she felt the sharp slap of put downs. A torrent of “you are out of your depth, there’s nothing special about you!”.
“You’re too emotional. Too sensitive. You even cried in front of a client!” She guffawed. “I can’t help being moved by others' courage” she wHiSPered back. “You feel your client’s feelings, don’t know which are your own, that’s not normal!” She judged. “I’m empathic, people need to know someone understands their pain" she wHiSPered back.
“If I get any smaller, I fear I may disappear altogether” she revealed.
She held her breath at the familiar eye rolling and accusations of letting her imagination get carried away. Of being a scaredy cat. Too this. Too that. She’d heard it all before. All her life. And here she was hearing it all again. It still felt like the first time. The hot wave of shame, of being wrong in some way. Of experiencing things too deeply. Being accused of being too shy, too quiet. Different, as if this were a bad thing. Being laughed at for being weird, crazy, strange, not like other people.
“You get distracted and irritated by them clicking their pen, you’re not even listening properly!” She poked. “I listen to my body and inquire whether it’s relevant” she wHiSPered back. “You think about them for days, you can’t step away from your work!” She growled. “I need time to process, reflect, think things through” she wHiSPered back.
The familiar out of body feeling prickled across her neck, round her shoulders, crept down her spine. Like she was on the edge of the crowd, not getting the joke. Discombobulated. Not fitting in. The old thought “what is wrong with me?” pecked at her body. Wondering why she couldn’t just be like everyone else. “Exactly!” She scoffed back, “why can’t you?”. She felt dirty like a doormat who’d just been scraped with muddy boots.
“You? Run a business? What do you know about that, you’re not a business woman!” She spat. “My curious mind asks questions, I can find the answers” she wHiSPered back. “You need to be able to network, you can’t do crowds, you’re no good in noisy groups!” She spewed. “I’m good at connecting with others and building relationships that last” she wHiSPered back.
“The hot wave of shame, of being wrong in some way.”
The tears were threatening as she pleaded “please don’t let me cry”. She’d heard the words before. Felt the flush of embarrassment as their ink stained her skin. That she’d been wrong to ever think she could be more, could make a difference, be good at this. She’d got it wrong. Made a terrible mistake. Hope drained with the colour in her cheeks. She felt herself shrink back inside herself where she thought it was safe.
“You take things too personally. When sessions don’t go well, you take it to heart!” She sneered. “I care and want to be fully present for my clients” she wHiSPered back. “You’re not… enough. You’re not enough!” She concluded. “Maybe you’re right” she barely wHiSPered back.
Her nails split her skin. The blood released more than she bargained for. “Do you know what it’s like to doubt yourself like this?” she flung back. Gasped at her own disobedience, her cheek. Taken aback. “To want to feel more brave, to believe in yourself?” she wept. “To stop running and hiding from who you are?” sobs scooped the air she needed to breathe. “To constantly worry what others will think?” she wHiSPered. “To want something more for yourself” she sighed.
“Yes, actually, I do” She shared softly. Both were blinking now. Confused. This had never happened before. This was new, a different pattern emerging. Like the kaleidoscope being turned the other way slowly. “I don’t understand” she heard herself say, but her lips didn’t move. A frown gathered between her eyebrows. An exclamation mark to the change filling the air.
“Yes. I do. I’ve spent my life doubting you. Your light frightens me. I’m full of fear because I am you. And I’ve been trying to keep us safe”. Still her lips didn’t move. She raised her hand as the woman opposite raised hers. Their cautious fingertips met. She felt the ice cold glass of the bathroom mirror like a zig zag through her heart.
“Words create worlds”3 and this is the one I created for me.
“Words create worlds”
I learnt that it’s not only the words of others that can create the world we live in; so too can the words that we choose to use for or against ourselves. You are not your worst thoughts, you are so much more. The conversations we have with our inner voices are a reflection of the relationship we have with ourselves. It is, afterall, us speaking to us.
We can be our own worst enemy and throw words like stones, rubbish and debris into the river of our worlds. Or we can choose to be our own best friend, to filter out the words that are damaging to our river. While still being honest with ourselves, and always having our back.
We can join in with being disrespectful and unkind like some before us, and some yet to come. Or we can work with, rather than against, our HSP trait and the challenges that can bring us in our work. We can embrace the dark and light of being a coach who is a Highly Sensitive Person (HSP), for the purpose of being fully present for ourselves and our clients.
“Words are fundamental for the way we make sense of the world around us and the feelings within us. In that, words and languages are powerful tools to help us navigate in and understand our reality as well as co-creating it with our fellow humans”4
Always be vulnerable, brave and daring!
Sensitively,
Gentle Gillian x
#GentleGillian
Reflective Questions for You:
Gather up your favourite journal, some water to rehydrate. Perhaps walk by a river, a stream, a brook, and ponder these questions, getting curious:
What words are you carrying from your tributaries that help or hinder you?
What might the intention of these words be?
If the story above had been about you, what patterns and themes would you notice?
Bonus activity: Write the next chapter, afterall, you get to choose the ending!
Fiver, the runt rabbit whose Lapine name means “Little One of Many”.
Aron, Elaine (1996), The Highly Sensitive Person. New York: Broadway Books.
Ward, Deborah (2020), Sense and Sensitivity: Why Highly Sensitive People Are Wired for Wonder. Sheldon Press.
“Words create worlds” - quote attributed to philosophers including Abraham Joshua Heschel and Wittgenstein. Phrase often used by practitioners whose work highlights the importance of language and conversation in coaching, therapy and consulting.
Words create worlds, Blog by The Presence Group, found here: Words create worlds - Presence Group
May we all stop and think before we fire the word 'too' in someone else's direction. I can see why you are so perfectly aligned with your work.
A lovely piece, you spoke to me within this. Thank you.