When Words Get in the Way of Communication

Making words matter without deputizing yourself as Chief Language Officer.

From teenagers navigating pronoun etiquette to politicians wielding podiums and social media accounts, conversations about communication seem to be everywhere. It can feel a bit like using fire to debate the dangers of fire—meta, messy, and potentially combustible.

Right now, our discussions about language seem to polarize into two equally unsatisfying extremes:

"Stop being offensive."
vs.
"Stop being so sensitive."

The reality is messier than either camp realizes, but also—and here's where I get optimistic—more hopeful. Turns out, most of our language wars are about the fascinating psychological machinery humming beneath our conversations. And understanding that machinery gives us a clearer path through the mess.

The Language Police Problem

Let's start with why the "word police" approach backfires. Language is inherently imperfect—it has to be. Its flexibility is what makes it so powerful: words can evolve in meaning and adapt to new contexts, which is exactly why language is so powerful. But that same flexibility that gives language its strength also makes it prone to misinterpretation. We’re all fumbling around with this ever-evolving tool, trying to convey complex, abstract, or imprecise thoughts through sounds and symbols. If you get right down to it, we're just making mouth noises at each other and hoping something meaningful gets across.

And there's an even deeper reason language policing doesn't work: it bumps up against our fundamental need for autonomy. When people feel their freedom to speak is being controlled, they experience what psychologists call "psychological reactance,” a drive to regain the agency they feel has been undermined.¹ And then they double down on the very language we're trying to change. Tell someone they can't say something, and suddenly that's exactly what they want to say.

In couples therapy, I regularly watch linguistic absurdity unfold. Partner A will say, "Don't interrupt me!" and Partner B, feeling policed, immediately fires back with, "You're always trying to control me and dominate the conversation." Then Partner A, feeling criticized, immediately interjects (yes, interrupts) with, "It's because you never listen!"

Both people become so focused on defending their right to speak and calling out the other's interruptions that they completely miss the irony: they're trying to control each other through the very interruptions they find so maddening. It's two people competing for Most Articulate Arguer while completely missing what the other person is saying.

This dynamic plays out beyond therapy rooms, too.

When we over-police every word choice, we create several problems:

• We come across as linguistic hall monitors, which causes annoyance or defensiveness rather than reflection on the other side.

• We focus so intently on surface-level correctness that we miss the deeper meaning that others are trying to convey.

• We ignore how language is normed within groups in ways that may not translate well outside of groups.

This approach treats words like they exist in a vacuum, disconnected from intent, context, and the messy reality of human communication.

Why Words Actually Do Matter

But here's where those who say "it's just words" get it wrong: language isn't neutral. It's one of the primary ways we shape both our internal world and our shared social reality.

From a psychological perspective, the words we use create feedback loops. For instance, when we describe people in dehumanizing terms, we're not just reflecting what we think—we're training our brains to think in a way that classifies humans as less than human.

The same goes for conflict thinking. If we frame political opponents as "enemies" rather than "people we disagree with," our brains start activating different neural pathways, different emotional responses, different behavioral scripts. If couples start talking about their relationship as "a battlefield" instead of "a partnership," guess what? We grow more likely to start acting like combatants instead of teammates.

Words create social reality. The language we normalize in our communities shapes what feels acceptable, what feels possible, what feels true. This isn't about political correctness—it's about recognizing that communication is a form of social construction.

The Practice of “Paying Attention to Your Mouth Noises”

So what's the alternative to both extremes? I'd suggest something like "the practice of paying attention to your mouth noises"—being curious about our own words without demanding perfection from ourselves or others.

This might look like:

Getting curious about our own patterns: What kinds of words do I reach for when I'm angry? When I'm describing people I disagree with? When I'm talking about myself? What underlying beliefs might these word choices reflect?

Considering impact alongside intent: It's challenging to separate intent from impact, but extending benefit of the doubt can often be transformative. One approach that works well: acknowledge the effect while inviting a redo. "I'm feeling attacked, but I suspect that's not what you meant (or that you attacked back because you felt I attacked first). Could you try again while recognizing I am really trying to hear what you're trying to say?" This gives both people a chance to get underneath the clumsy words to the real message.

Recognizing the feedback loop: The words I use today shape the person I become tomorrow. If I consistently speak with cruelty, I become more cruel. If I consistently speak with curiosity, I become more curious. (This isn't magic—it's neuroscience.)

The key is paying some attention to the words, but paying more attention to the meaning behind the words. What is this person actually trying to communicate? What need or fear or hope or value is driving their word choice? Sometimes the most inflammatory language comes from the deepest hurt—and if we can get curious about the hurt instead of reactive about the language, we might actually get somewhere.

When Words Become Weapons: A Historical Warning

Understanding words in context matters beyond our personal relationships. History shows us where dehumanizing language can lead when it becomes normalized—not by monsters, but by ordinary people who gradually stopped seeing others as fully human.

Hannah Arendt captured this powerfully when she wrote about "the banality of evil" in her report on Adolf Eichmann’s trial. What struck her wasn't that Eichmann was filled with hatred, but that bureaucratic language had created such cognitive distance that mass murder became "evacuation" and a “final solution”—just procedures to follow.

This kind of linguistic distance can make the unthinkable feel routine. And it often starts with metaphors and ways of speaking that feel justified in the moment.

We can all recognize some warning signs in our own language: animal metaphors ("they're acting like wolves"), mechanistic language ("they're just cogs in the machine"), or disease metaphors ("this group is a cancer"). These patterns have historically paved the way for seeing others as expendable, which makes them worth noticing when they show up in our own communities—or in our own mouths.

The Practice of Conscious Communication

This isn't about any one of us becoming a perfect speaker. It's about becoming a conscious one.

When we catch ourselves using language that reduces complex people to simple categories, we can pause and ask: "Is this how I want to think about this person? Is this moving me toward or away from my values? Is this creating the kind of conversation I actually want to have?"

When we notice dehumanizing language—in ourselves or others—the antidote isn't shame or policing, but vigilance about what we're normalizing. The danger isn't just the immediate harm of cruel words, but how quickly we can become desensitized to them. What shocks us today can feel routine tomorrow if we're not paying attention.

With our own language, the work is internal: catching ourselves, pausing, and choosing words that align with our values rather than our momentary frustration. With others, it's trickier. We can't control the choices other people make about their words, we can choose what conversations we’re comfortable being part of.

Some approaches that can help include:

• Redirecting rather than lecturing: "I'm more interested in understanding what's driving this situation" instead of "You can't talk about people that way."

• Modeling alternative language: Instead of matching the intensity of dehumanizing words, use more human-centered language in your response.

• Setting gentle boundaries: "I find it hard to think clearly when we're talking about people this way—can we try a different approach?"

• Engage curiosity: "I wonder what experience led you to describe it that way?” (This often naturally humanizes the conversation)

• Stepping away when needed: Sometimes the wisest choice is refusing to engage with dehumanizing conversations rather than trying to fix them in the moment.

Again, the goal isn't to become the conversation police or promote ourselves to Chief Language Officer, but to stay conscious of what kind of dialogue we're willing to be part of creating. And we can strive to use words that open doors rather than slamming them shut (and setting them on fire).

The Paradox of Imperfect Mindfulness

When we stop demanding perfect language from ourselves and others, we often end up communicating more and thus more effectively over time. When people feel safe to speak imperfectly, they're more likely to continue engaging and work things out with one another. And when we continue having dialogue, it gives us space to have real conversations about real differences rather than performative exchanges about word choices or a lack of any kind of real exchange.

And we must remember that the goal isn't to eliminate all problematic language—that's impossible and therefore a counterproductive objective. A more useful goal is to become more aware of the messages we're sending, both to others and to ourselves, through the gloriously imperfect tool of language.

Because ultimately, words are just the beginning. They shape thoughts, thoughts shape actions, and actions create the world we live in together. We're all just fumbling around through this weird human. experiment of turning feelings into sounds and hoping they land somewhere in the vicinity of understanding.

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What patterns do you notice in your own language when you're stressed, angry, or trying to make a point? I'm curious about the words we reach for when we're not thinking consciously about our word choices.

If this made you think "oh no, I do that thing," hit the like button. If it made you think "everyone else does that thing," consider sharing it with those people;)

Further Reading from the Riff Raff Vault:

We're All "Sorry-Not-Sorry"

An Unlikely Friendship Between a KKK Leader and a Black Activist

1. My favorite way to think about psychological reactance is as our inner three-year-old. It’s what happens when you offer a toddler two perfectly reasonable options—"Would you like to wear the red shirt or the blue shirt?” And they inevitably demand the imaginary purple shirt that doesn't exist.