The Words We Speak, the Children We Shape
I can still picture the scene as though I’m watching it from outside myself. I stood over my oldest child, my finger wagging in his face, the words tumbling out of me with the sharpness of a blade. “You’re lying!” I said, my voice raised, my tone accusatory. He looked up at me, wide-eyed and silent, as I delivered my lecture. At the time, I felt justified, even righteous—after all, I was teaching him an important lesson. I believed I was parenting. But later that night, as I sat alone with my thoughts, I pictured him lying in bed, trying to fall asleep. I wondered: What words did my child fall asleep to that night? What image of me stayed with him?
The weight of that moment pressed on me. I saw myself through his eyes—much larger, looming, intimidating. Though there was no physical interaction, my presence must have felt enormous. I began to question my words and my tone. Was I correcting his behavior, or was I passing down something far more damaging? The more I reflected, the more I realized I was mirroring the same patterns I had experienced as a child. I saw the cycle: the chastising, the anger, the shaming. I saw my son reacting just as I had as a child. And I asked myself, What am I teaching him about himself?
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The things we say to our children—and the way we say them—shape their self-perception and their worldview. Words are more powerful than we realize. They can build a child up, offering gifts of confidence, security, and self-worth, or they can weigh them down with shame, doubt, and a sense of inadequacy. Whether we intend to or not, we pass down emotional legacies through our language. The power of sound, meaning, and intention behind words stays with children for life. It becomes their inner voice, their compass, and, in many ways, their inheritance.
A Tale of Two Childhoods
Unangan Elder, Ilarion Merculieff grew up in a village where the adults embraced a philosophy of raising children rooted in affirmation, trust, and guidance. “Good boy,” they would greet him, day after day. These were not hollow words but an acknowledgment of his inherent goodness and a reflection of the community’s belief in the positive potential of every child. In his village, the adults spoke to children in ways that left no room for shame or chastisement. Instead, they created a space where children could learn from their mistakes without fear of judgment.
Ilarion recalls a pivotal moment when he was nine years old. He stole $20 from his grandfather, a small fortune for his community at the time. He used the money to buy a toy airplane, unaware that his aunt had seen the transaction. Instead of confronting him in front of others, she waited until they were alone, speaking to him in their language with a calm, unaccusatory tone. “Larry, where did you get that $20 from?” she asked. Ilarion knew he was caught. There was no anger in her voice, no punishment looming over him—just a question, leaving the responsibility to him.
“I stole it from my grandfather,” he admitted, and his aunt simply asked, “What do you think you should do about that?” Her response empowered him to decide the course of action. Ilarion returned the airplane, got the money back, and confessed to his grandfather. His grandfather’s response was simple yet profound: “Good boy.” Those words, spoken with love and affirmation, reframed the entire experience. “They acknowledged the things that I did that were not correct but focused on what I did that was right,” Ilarion reflects. “And so I never stole again for the rest of my life.”
The approach of his community was not about ignoring wrongdoing but about focusing on the child’s capacity for goodness and growth. This moment became a defining lesson for Ilarion—not through shame, but through the unconditional belief that he was still a good boy.
Ilarion’s story invites reflection on my own childhood. Like many children, I also found myself stealing as a young boy. But my experience of being caught was entirely different. The response from adults in my life wasn’t calm or affirming; it was laced with anger, chastisement, and shame. “How could you do this?” and “What’s wrong with you?” were words that echoed in my ears. Rather than being asked to reflect on my actions, I was told who I was—a thief, a bad boy. I carried the weight of that shame long after the incident itself faded.
Where Ilarion’s story ends with a lesson learned and a behavior changed, my own story continued. Shame did not deter me from stealing; instead, it reinforced a pattern. The more I felt like a “bad kid,” the more I lived up to that label. Shame became a cycle—both inherited and perpetuated.
Ilarion’s experience offers a powerful contrast. His Elders recognized his capacity for goodness and guided him back to it with love and affirmation. In doing so, they broke the cycle that so many children, like me, find themselves caught in. Shame, on the other hand, often leads to repetition, as the weight of being labeled overshadows the opportunity for growth.
The tale of two childhoods illustrates the power of language. Affirming words can teach lessons while preserving a child’s sense of self-worth. Negative language, however, can leave scars that perpetuate the very behavior it seeks to correct. How different might my childhood—and my patterns as a parent—have been if I had heard “Good boy” instead of “How could you?”
The Power of Language and Sound
Language is more than a tool for communication; it is a force that shapes identity, relationships, and the way we understand the world. The words we use, their sounds, and the intentions behind them carry emotional and spiritual weight. This is a belief deeply embedded in Rastafari, where language is seen as transformative. For Rastafarians, even subtle shifts in words can carry profound meaning. Rastas don’t "understand," they "overstand," emphasizing empowerment rather than submission. Words like "dedicate," which carries associations with “dead,” are replaced with "live" or "livity," reflecting vitality and connection to life.
This perspective aligns with the work of many scholars and practitioners, who explore how the language we use with children—whether intentional or careless—can profoundly shape their sense of self. Dr. Gabor Maté emphasizes that children are highly attuned to the emotional undercurrents of their parents’ words. A frustrated comment like, Why would you do something so stupid? is often internalized by a child not as a reflection of their actions, but of their worth. Over time, such language becomes the foundation of their inner voice.
bell hooks expands this idea, framing parenting as an act of love and care, where language plays a critical role. “To love well is the task in all meaningful relationships, not just with others but with ourselves,” she writes. For hooks, love in parenting meant intentionally choosing words that affirm and uplift rather than diminish. When we speak to children with language that reflects their goodness and potential, we help them grow into resilient and confident adults.
Brene Brown, too, warns of the corrosive power of shame, noting that “shame corrodes the very part of us that believes we are capable of change.” When parents use words that shame a child—whether through insults, sarcasm, or harsh criticism—they inadvertently close doors to growth and learning. Instead of correcting behavior, shame locks children into patterns of self-doubt and fear.
The Rastafarian practice of intentional language echoes these lessons. By choosing words that sound and feel empowering, they acknowledge the deep connection between sound, meaning, and identity. This mirrors Maté’s insight that children internalize not just the words their parents use but the emotional tone behind them. Similarly, Brown’s and hooks’ teachings remind us that affirming language opens pathways for healing and transformation, both for children and for parents.
In this way, the power of language is universal. Whether in a cultural practice like Rastafarianism or in psychological research, the message is clear: the words we use carry weight. They have the potential to create worlds of possibility or walls of limitation. In every interaction, we have the opportunity to choose language that builds trust, self-worth, and resilience. By recognizing this, we can harness the power of language to give our children the gifts of love, understanding, and affirmation.
The Inheritance of Language
Language is not only a tool we use to communicate with our children—it is an inheritance we pass down, often without realizing it. The words we speak, the tone we use, and the patterns of affirmation or shame are shaped by our own experiences as children. As parents, we frequently repeat what we experienced growing up, for better or worse. This repetition is rarely intentional, but it is powerful. If we were raised in a home where words were weapons, we may find ourselves wielding language in the same way. Conversely, if we were raised with affirming and empowering language, we are more likely to pass that legacy on to our children.
Generational patterns of language are deeply ingrained. A parent who grew up hearing phrases like “What’s wrong with you?” or “Why can’t you get anything right?” might find those same words flying out like daggers during moments of frustration. Without reflection, these inherited patterns can perpetuate cycles of shame, shaping a child’s sense of self in ways that mirror their parent’s childhood wounds. A child who internalizes punitive language is more likely to carry those wounds forward, using the same words with their own children.
But language doesn’t only harm; it can also heal. Parents who break the cycle by choosing affirming and loving words can transform their child’s emotional landscape. Positive language creates a foundation of trust, self-worth, and resilience. For example, a parent who grew up hearing constant criticism might choose to say, “I see you’re trying hard—how can I help?” instead of jumping to blame. This shift interrupts the generational transmission of shame and replaces it with empathy and connection.
Language as Healing
The importance of breaking these cycles is emphasized in a saying from Alcoholics Anonymous: “The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.” This insight applies powerfully to parenting. If we use the same language with our children that was used with us—expecting it to yield better results—we are caught in a cycle of insanity. Shaming words that didn’t help us grow will not help our children grow either.
Breaking these patterns requires intention. It starts with examining the way we speak to our children and asking hard questions:
Are my words helping or hurting?
Am I teaching my child to see themselves as capable and good, or am I reinforcing doubt and shame?
Am I repeating language that wounded me in my own childhood?
Furthermore, you might imagine yourself in your child’s place. Would your childhood self be intimidated by the words, tone and posture? By reflecting on our inherited patterns, we create an opportunity to choose a different path. Just as a child’s behavior can be shaped by words, so too can a parent’s. Language has the power to break chains that have bound families for generations, replacing cycles of shame with cycles of love and affirmation.
In choosing to speak with empathy, affirmation, and care, we redefine what our children inherit. Instead of passing down wounds, we pass down healing. Instead of shame, we pass down self-worth. The power to change the narrative lies within every word we speak—and every word we choose not to.
An Invitation to Reflect
As parents, it’s easy to get caught up in the whirlwind of daily challenges, forgetting to pause and reflect on the long-term impact of our words. But what if we stopped to ask ourselves some difficult questions?
When your child tells a lie, do you see a liar—or a good child who made a mistake and can learn from it?
Do your words lift your children or weigh them down?
When your child misbehaves, do you still love and value them unconditionally? If so, why do we use language that suggests otherwise?
These questions aren’t meant to accuse but to provoke reflection. The truth is, the words we use with our children don’t disappear into the air after we speak them. They linger. They echo in the minds of our children, shaping how they see themselves. They can become either gifts of self-worth and love—or curses of shame and self-doubt.
But our language doesn’t just matter when we speak to our children. It matters when we speak to ourselves. How do we talk to ourselves in moments of parenting failure? When we lose our temper or fall short of the parent we aspire to be, do we call ourselves “bad parents” or “unworthy”? Do we repeat lies about ourselves—that we are cursed, incapable, or broken?
Healing the way we speak to our children begins with healing the way we speak to ourselves. Grandmother Rita Blumenstein, a revered Yup’ik Elder and Healer, taught that many of us carry a hole inside of us—a deep emptiness, a h-o-l-e. To become whole—w-h-o-l-e—we must fill that emptiness with something good. If we use negative, shaming language with our children, we are not only creating holes within them but also reinforcing the ones within ourselves. However, when we choose positive, uplifting language, we begin to fill that hole, both for our children and ourselves, moving closer to becoming whole.
Parenting from a place of shame and self-doubt only perpetuates those feelings in our children. But when we work to heal ourselves—acknowledging our worth, speaking affirmatively to ourselves, and silencing the inner critic—we become whole. And from that place of wholeness, we can offer our children the unconditional love and affirming language they need to thrive.
The journey to changing the way we speak to our children isn’t easy. It requires us to confront the generational patterns we’ve inherited, the wounds we carry, and the lies we’ve internalized about ourselves. But this journey is also an opportunity—a chance to transform not just our children’s lives but our own.
When we speak to our children with love and intention, we teach them that they are worthy of love, even when they stumble. When we speak to ourselves with compassion, we remind ourselves that we, too, are worthy of love, even when we fall short. In doing so, we create a legacy of healing, breaking cycles of shame and replacing them with cycles of affirmation and growth.
Parenting is not about being perfect; it’s about being present. And in that presence, we hold the power to choose words that heal, affirm, and uplift—not just for our children, but for ourselves. What words will you choose today? If you falter, remember to look at your child and take notice of the light in their eyes. Foster the light, not the darkness.
Speaking Wholeness into Our Children
As I reflect on the moment I stood over my child, chastising him for lying, I can’t help but think of what could have been different. What if, instead of wagging my finger and speaking words of accusation, I had paused? What if I had asked him why he felt the need to lie, or reminded him of his goodness? What if my words that night had been ones of understanding and guidance, instead of judgment? What if the memory he carried to bed was one of love and affirmation rather than fear and shame?
As parents, our words are not fleeting. They carry weight. They echo in our children’s minds and hearts, shaping the way they see themselves and the world. But the beauty of this truth is that we have the power to choose. Every interaction with our children is an opportunity to affirm their worth, to reflect their potential, and to show them unconditional love.
The wisdom of Ilarion Merculieff offers a profound reminder of this power: “They acknowledged the things that I did that were not correct but focused on what I did that was right.” His community’s choice to speak affirmatively to children—to focus on their goodness rather than their mistakes—allowed him to grow into his fullest potential. When we choose to speak words that build up rather than tear down, we give our children the space to do the same.
But this work begins with us. Grandmother Rita Blumenstein reminds us that we must fill the hole inside ourselves with something good to become whole. Healing our language toward our children starts with healing the way we speak to ourselves. When we stop the cycle of shame within our own hearts, we stop passing it on.
The power of word and sound is a gift, and with it comes responsibility. As parents, we can pass down curses of shame or gifts of love, legacies of doubt or affirmations of worth. The choice is ours. Let us choose words that uplift, heal, and empower—not only for our children but for ourselves. In doing so, we create a legacy of wholeness, breaking cycles of harm and planting seeds of love that will grow for generations to come.
Tonight, pause before speaking. Choose words that reflect your child’s goodness, and watch as they begin to mirror your belief in them. In doing so, we break chains of shame and create a legacy of healing