'The limits of our language become the limits of our inner world.'

‘The limits of our language become the limits of our inner world.’

Someone asks how you are, and out comes “not too bad,” “fine,” “yeah, I’m good.” Someone asks what’s wrong, and the best you can manage is “I’m angry” or “I’m over it.” Not because that’s the whole truth of what you feel, only because those are the only words you were ever given for it.

We were taught spelling, maths, grammar, a thousand things about the world out there. Almost none of us were taught the language of what goes on inside us.

I know this one from the inside. I grew up in a Greek-speaking home and started school with barely any English. I was put in a special class, and I carried a quiet belief for years that I was somehow less. I wasn’t short of intelligence. I was short of words, in the one language that room counted.

Here is the thing. A whole rich inner world, disappointment, grief, longing, shame, gets crushed down into the few blunt words we have. Angry. Frustrated. Fine. It’s like trying to paint a sunset with three crayons.

And this is not a judgement. We all do the best we can with what we know today. The good news is you can grow the words at any age. The moment you can name what you feel, you can begin to understand it, share it, and heal it.

What are you really feeling, underneath the word you usually reach for?