The Shape of a Word

It started with a slip-up and a bad sushi date.

I was stressed to my limit and barely keeping it together.

But the Sushi Date had been long anticipated. And so, with deep breaths and a smile, I piled my two redheaded little brothers into the car and zipped over to the nearest sushi joint.

The booths were cramped and lit like the set of a low-budget horror movie. The sushi?

Delicious.

Everything was going fine until Brother A snatched Brother B’s last piece and ate it.

What happened next was a blur of insults, whisper-shouting, and chopsticks being wielded with clumsy violence.

And then I said it.

“Shut up!”

They both froze, wide-eyed. Chopsticks dangling from their fingertips.

To anyone who’s been to middle school or watched an afternoon sitcom, those two words don’t seem like much. But I don’t think I’d ever said them to my family before.

The ride home hung thick with awkward silence.

My stomach was heavy and churning.

Later, I apologized. We hugged. All forgiven, a follow-up sushi date scheduled, the end.

But was it?

Since then, I’ve noticed myself becoming less thoughtful about the words I use — and how I use them.

It’s easy to speak gently, softly, consciously when I'm in a Zoom meeting with 32 well-mannered peers.

It’s a lot harder when it’s 11 pm on a school night and a sibling brawl breaks out in the basement.

Slowly, words crept into my vocabulary almost without me noticing. Phrases I’d eschewed for as long as I could remember.

“Well, that was stupid.”

“You’re so annoying.”

“What’s your problem?”

“You ding-dong.”

“You’re driving me crazy!”

And once, when my brother killed an adorable, blocky little llama in Minecraft:

“You idiot! Why did you do that?”

Each time I speak this way, my better self cringes.

But the worst part isn’t my own slide down the slippery slope of common pejoratives.

It’s the fact that it’s contagious.

As the oldest of seven, I’ve known my siblings follow my example ever since my first sister decided she loved The Little Mermaid because I did.

(I was four and wanted to be Special, so with peak preschooler maturity, I immediately decided I loved Beauty and the Beast instead.)

True to form, the harsh language I’d adopted spread through my family like a mold.

Every time there was a disagreement, I started hearing the words played back like a record.

And now I see their effect.

“You’re so annoying” never stops a brother from bugging a sister. Not once. All it does is make him think, “well if I’m annoying, I may as well keep getting better at it.”

“You’re so dumb” spoken over and over begins to nestle in the painful cracks of a little heart.

Before, I would remind them to use kind words. Not to label others negatively.

But now another word rings in my own head when I try.

Hypocrite.

As a writer and lover of language, I know how words work.

They’re not just marks on a page or a screen.

Not just sound waves traveling into the delicate spiral of an ear.

They carry power, energy, emotion, intention.

Words shape the world in real time. Here. Now.

I’ve worked to educate myself on how to use words to respect others’ identities. From learning preferred pronouns to understanding slurs.

These are big things. They matter — and they help shape a better world for those who’ve been hurt by words in the past.

But now I’m realizing, remembering, re-learning:

The little things matter too. The words we speak every day create the foundation of our lives.

And they can shape others’ lives too.

Can define their realities.

So, this year, I’m creating a culture of kindness.

I’m refusing to surrender to the words that have become so easy to say.

I’m rewriting my lexicon to include more love.

And when I slip up (inevitably) I’ll apologize and try again every time.

Even when it’s awkward, embarrassing, inconvenient.

(Especially then.)

I’m disconnecting the action from the individual.

“I feel annoyed when you do that.”

I’m emphasizing the positive and looking for the good.

“I love your goofy sense of humor. Thank you for making me laugh.”

I’m choosing to see potential and speaking to the better self in others.

“You’re so good at noticing when people are having a bad day.”

I’m using correction like a surgeon uses a scalpel — to cut only what needs it without collateral damage.

I’m watching the way I talk to myself and how that filters outwards

I’m learning, growing, facing the uncomfortable and challenging the familiar.

I’m working to speak goodness even in the not-so-good-moments.

I’m starting with me.

And I’m hoping.

(Really, really hoping.)

That my words will burst with a love that radiates onto my loved ones’ radar.

That they will seep into my brothers’ and sisters’ souls like long-awaited warmth.

That the way we speak to each other will begin to reflect light like rainbows after a storm.

And that, beginning with the little things, our words will start to shape a kinder family.

A kinder home.

And a kinder world for everyone.