The Words We Keep

Maya Angelou once said,

“Words are things, I’m convinced… I think they get on the walls. They get in your wallpaper. They get in your rugs, in your upholstery, in your clothes, and finally into you.”

Every word you have ever heard, whether good or bad, has been given to you by someone else. What I’ve come to learn is that word givers are also word carriers.

Word givers are usually generous; whether we’re thankful for their gift is another story.

On most days, the words I remember from word givers aren’t very kind. Without naming them all, they seem to shout, “You aren’t enough.”

Words can be like curses, figuratively and literally; they’re powerful because we believe in them. When someone calls us ugly or stupid or tears into our bodies, our hearts, our identity, why do we ascribe truth to the offender? How vulnerable of them to reveal the words they carry and are burdened by.  

Words can also be healing. Humility, remorse, and affirmations of love and friendship are antidotes no medicine can replicate.

The words we carry are less important than the words we believe in anyway:

I am beautiful.
I am kind.
I am good.
I am smart.
I am valuable.
I am loved.
I am compassionate.
I am wonderfully made.

You are too.