“Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me!” That’s what my Dad used to say. I’d repeat those words, but I’d still cry at the mean words that were said to me after a bad day at school or when the same man telling me this mantra would also call me things a Dad should never call his daughter.

What a lie that is that we are told and that some still tell their children.

Words are so much more powerful than what they’re given credit for. They have the ability to carry an enormous amount of weight on our emotional and psychological well-being.

It’s the words that we are told where all of our core beliefs originate from.

It’s words that make brides and grooms cry tears of joy in front of their family and friends, declaring their love for one another in their vows.

It’s words that carry the happiness you feel when your child says “Mum” or “Dad” for the first time.

It’s words that can bring people together and can also tear them apart.

Words can build you up if they’re positive, just as quickly as they can bring you down if they’re negative. (If you let them.) Words can make you believe many different things because the truth is, no matter how hard a stick or stone is thrown at you, words will have a deeper and longer-lasting psychological effect than some cuts, splinters and grazes ever will.
Because words have enormous power.

But the beauty with words is, you can still choose what words you give power to and what words you choose to have the power to give to others.

I’ll never forget in fourth grade when I was sitting on the carpet in my classroom amongst all of my classmates, I pulled my headband down to re-do it, and as I did, my teacher pointed at me and laughed because my hair “looked like a peacock” when I did it. The class full of 9 year olds laughed at me with her. She had totally embarrassed me and singled me out, and from then on, I’d only fix my headband in secret. I’d go into the toilets to do it instead where no one could see me. I now had an insecurity about doing my hair.

In high school, I suffered from genetic hormonal cystic acne, and I will never forget being called “pizza face” on Facebook. While other people were getting “To Be Honest’s” posted on their walls of how pretty they are, on my wall, I’d get recommendations of what acne creams to try. People would tell me to “wash my face” as if I didn’t have dermatological products and probably a more extensive skin care regime than most 15 year olds at the time. I walked around avoiding photos and certain lighting, even skipping entirely my final senior photos. I’d style my hair in ways it would cover my cheeks. I’d cake on makeup in the mornings, but make up can’t remove texture, and my bullies made sure I didn’t forget that. Some days I’d sit in front of my mirror and cry with my eyes closed, occasionally opening to make sure I was applying my makeup correctly.

I literally couldn’t even look at myself.

When I was 16, I had to wear a back brace daily for a year. I had learned I had scoliosis with a 32° curvature to the left. It’s considered ‘moderate’ between 20° and 40°. But if you google it, you’ll see for yourself that it’s not ideal. I was instructed to wear this chunk of plastic 24/7 — yes, even outside of the pool in summer on top of my swimsuits.
I would wear it under my school uniform shirt, with a singlet underneath the brace because it would be so uncomfortable and hot. I couldn’t bend over to pick up my bag; I couldn’t sit down in class for too long before my legs would go numb. I would avoid hugging my friends because if you touched me, you would know I had something underneath.
The velcro straps in metal clips on the back of my brace were so thick; eventually, people figured out I had one. I tried to embrace it. I still got called weird, and I got coined the nickname “R2-D2” by a few people too.

I didn’t know anyone else in my school who also had to wear one. I didn’t wear it as much as I should have, and although my scoliosis isn’t as bad as it was all those years ago, I still pay the price for putting my fear and insecurities of others and their words above my own future well-being.

When I was much younger and hurting, I used to use my words for evil. I would say the most horrendous and offensive insults to people who were hurting me. I could never ‘be the bigger person’ and just not say what I wanted to on the inside. I always wanted to destroy someone when I felt they were doing that to me. — spoiler; not a good way to live and I learnt that eventually.

If you had hurt me, I would hurt you back using every word I could as an emotional weapon. I’d use their insecurities against them. I would say things I didn’t mean or believe myself, but I knew they believed them so I would use them to purposely hurt them.

And here’s the thing, you can never take back what you say. Not truly. No amount of apologies, excuses or ‘justifications’ can ever take back things you say to someone that hurt them, especially when it was intentionally said to do just that.

Horrible.

Hurt people hurt people.

It wasn’t easy to admit and accept that regardless of how much growth I have personally gone through over the years, I am still someone’s bad guy in their story somewhere and I can’t change that. Perhaps there is a person out there that still carries my words of venom in their hearts, the same way I have carried others in mine. I’m sure the people who once hurt me have also grown and changed over time, and even if they haven’t, I have chosen to forgive them — even if they’re not sorry.
I have made the conscious decision to remove such power from their words so that only the nice, special ones get to rest close to my heart and spirit.
I have made the conscious decision to use the power of my words for good.

None of us are perfect. All of us have made some questionable decisions and said some things we probably shouldn’t have. I believe that everyone deserves the chance to forgive themselves for where they fell short, or let others down, and even themselves.

Today is a new day.

Tomorrow is a new day.

You have the choice to put out into the world what you want to receive, change, and see.

May this be an open letter perhaps, an open apology to anyone I’ve hurt as a by-product of my own pain in the past. Although my intentions were driven with hatred back then, my intentions now are to offer you that apology as a grown woman, a mother, a wife, and friend.

Words mean a lot. Good and bad.

Is there something nice you could say to a loved one today?

Or to yourself?

All my love,
Chenise Sinclaire.