Sticks and Stones

Nine years ago, someone called me high maintenance.

She didn’t mean it as a compliment. I knew exactly how she meant it.

And the funny thing is, I still remember it.

Yesterday, I heard those words again. High maintenance. Difficult to get along with.

Different person. Different time in my life. But somehow, those words found the exact same little place where the old ones had been sitting for the last nine years.

It got me thinking about words.

We grow up hearing, “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.”

Who came up with that?

Because words hurt.

And sometimes they hurt for a really long time.

There are things people said to me as a little girl that I can still remember. Things said in high school. Things said as a young woman, a wife, a mom, a businesswoman and a friend.

Some were probably said without much thought at all.

But I carried them.

I think most of us do.

Someone can say something in 30 seconds and forget about it 30 minutes later, while the person on the receiving end remembers it for years.

Maybe that’s why I’m writing this.

There’s no big announcement or profound lesson at the end. Writing has always been one of the ways I work through things. Sometimes putting my own words on paper helps me understand why someone else’s words bothered me so much.

I think women can become very good at looking confident.

We get dressed. We show up. We run businesses. We raise families. We take care of people. We walk into rooms like we belong there—even on the days we’re questioning ourselves the entire way in.

People may see strong, successful, confident and outspoken.

They don’t necessarily see the little girl still inside who remembers being told all the things

Too loud.

Too emotional.

Too sensitive.

Too high maintenance....

And maybe some of those things are true about me sometimes.

Maybe I can be high maintenance. Maybe I can be difficult. Maybe I expect a lot from people because I expect a lot from myself.

I’m 55 years old. I’m probably not suddenly going to become a woman who doesn’t care deeply, doesn’t have opinions, doesn’t have expectations or doesn’t get her feelings hurt.

But I’m learning I don’t have to turn every criticism into my identity.

There’s a difference between listening when someone tells you something you may need to hear and allowing someone’s words to define who you believe you are.

And this isn’t about women versus men. Everyone is carrying something we can’t see.

Maybe that’s the point.

We don’t know which insecurity is hiding underneath the confidence. We don’t know which wound is underneath the smile. And we don’t know if the thing we’re about to casually say sounds exactly like something someone heard nine years ago and never quite forgot.

Words have meaning.

They can make someone feel seen, loved and worthy.

And they can make someone question themselves long after the conversation is over.

So maybe we need a new version of sticks and stones.

Sticks and stones may break our bones.

And words can hurt too.

So choose them carefully.

Because you never really know how long someone might carry them.

And Maybe we could all just be kind.