Why Language Matters in Healing
Words don’t just land in our minds, they land in our bodies. For those of us who’ve lived through trauma, language can be a trigger or a balm. Words hold weight, tone, and intention, and when they’re used carelessly, they can feel like little paper cuts to the nervous system.
I’ve learned to listen not just to what’s being said, but how it feels.
Take the word ‘rules’, for example. I recently heard it in a group setting: “We have some rules.” I felt it instantly. Harsh. Authoritarian. Controlling. Not wrong, necessarily, but rigid. Unyielding. Like a door slammed shut. Now, compare it to ‘guidelines.’ It feels different, doesn’t it? More flexible. More human. More open to context and care.
This is the kind of subtle shift that matters.
As someone who works with people in recovery, I notice these things constantly. Words like not allowed which is rife in schools, don’t just instruct—they restrict. They carry the same energy as punishment or exile. They can feel like rejection or shame, especially when the context is unnecessary, like in a fast-food store: “You are not allowed to change the items on the set menu.” Why not? I’m paying. I’m a person. I matter. Choice matters.
Or the signs in schools: “You are not allowed to run.” “Do not step on the grass.” These aren’t simply boundaries. They’re commands that often come without compassion.
It’s not that boundaries are bad—it’s how we phrase them that makes all the difference. Try:
– “Please walk here, as it can get busy.”
– “Let’s give the grass time to grow.”
See how those feel? The message is still clear—but it invites cooperation instead of compliance. It recognises the person behind the behaviour.
This sensitivity to language isn’t a luxury—it’s essential in trauma-informed spaces. That’s why I’m now offering talks, training, and consultation as a Trauma-Informed Language Advisor. I help organisations, schools, and services examine the feeling behind the words—so their communication can regulate rather than dysregulate.
Because what we say matters. And how we say it matters even more.
For people who have experienced complex trauma, saying what they really feel isn’t just difficult – it can feel dangerous. Many have learned to survive by pleasing others, avoiding conflict, or responding out of obligation and guilt. The patterns are protective, not pathological – but they can lead to chronic stress, emotional suppression and even physical illness.
When we create environments of safety and awareness – where expression is gently encouraged and differences are welcomed – something shifts. People begin to feel seen. They begin to speak. And with that, their health improves – not just emotionally, but physically too.
This matters not just for individuals, but for all of us. Because when people feel safe enough to be honest, we build communities rooted in compassion, not fear.
There is something deeply respectful about being direct and kind. Straight lines feel safe. After trauma, many people lose their ability to ask for what they need clearly. They test the water, hint, or tiptoe around the truth – not because they’re being manipulative, but because they’ve learned that speaking directly can lead to rejection, punishment or harm.
But when we’re on the receiving end of that kind of communication, it can feel confusing or even incongruent – like somethings being hidden. And if we don’t understand the roots, it’s easy to misread it as dishonest or controlling. That’s why in trauma informed spaces, we value both what’s said and how it’s said. We encourage directness – but with care. Kindness doesn’t mean avoidance. Clarity doesn’t require cruelty. When we model this balance, we show others it’s possible to speak truthfully without losing connection. That’s what safety looks like in action.
Truth, Congruence, and the Impact of Language
This work isn’t about walking on eggshells. It’s not about denying reality or sugar-coating truth. It’s about congruence—aligning what we say with how we want to relate to others.
Take the phrase “You’re not allowed.” Technically, yes, we ‘can’ step on the grass. We ‘can’ change an item on a menu. We ‘can’ speak loudly if we choose to. So when we hear “not allowed,” what we’re often bumping up against isn’t reality—it’s a demand for compliance.
And that’s where the discomfort lives—not in the boundary, but in the way it’s imposed.
This work is not about sanitising language until it’s bland. It’s about recognising that words have tone, energy, and consequence. In trauma-informed spaces, language either builds bridges—or builds walls.
Some might say, “Get over yourself with your hurty-words—I’ll say whatever I want.” And that’s their right. But isn’t it ironic? That some who dismiss others’ discomfort with words feel deeply uncomfortable being asked to consider their own impact?
Congruence is about truth—but it’s also about compassion. It’s about saying what’s real ‘and’ holding space for how it lands. You can tell the truth ‘and’ do it kindly. You can hold a boundary ‘without’ a verbal slap.
Because ultimately, trauma-informed language isn’t about censorship.
It’s about connection.
Let’s shift the conversation. One word at a time.
If you’d like support in creating trauma-informed materials or want me to speak with your team, please get in touch.
Straight lines feel safe. Directness doesn’t have to be harsh – and kindness doesn’t mean avoiding the truth.
When we speak clearly and with care, we build trust. That’s what safety sounds like”. – Deborah J Crozier