As a clinical psychologist, I help people find the words to express what they’re feeling. For most of my career, this was a straightforward process — mostly supporting clients with anxiety and relationship or career issues. But over the past few years, I’ve noticed a shift. More and more, clients arrive not just with anxiety — but with speech anxiety. They’re not afraid of public speaking. They’re afraid that voicing a viewpoint could harm others — or be interpreted as harm itself.
We’re living in a cultural moment where phrases like “words are violence” have moved from the margins into the mainstream. The instinct behind the idea is understandable. It’s rooted in compassion and a desire to protect others from emotional pain. But as someone who works with people in distress, I can say this: equating speech with physical violence doesn’t foster safety. It fosters fragility — and avoidance of the very emotional tools we need to thrive.
Yes, words can hurt. They can be cruel, dismissive, even traumatizing but to label words as violent collapses a crucial distinction. Physical violence is something we’re biologically wired to avoid at all costs. It triggers a primal response — fight, flight, freeze — that can be lifesaving, in the right context. But when we teach people to respond to challenging conversations as if they’re being physically attacked, we inadvertently hijack that same physiological stress response. We turn everyday discomfort into a perceived emergency.
This distinction isn’t just philosophical — it’s embedded in clinical ethics. As a licensed psychologist, I’m legally required to break confidentiality if a client discloses an imminent threat of physical violence. But if a client tells me they plan to say something rude, offensive, or even hateful, I’m not only permitted to keep that information confidential — I’m obligated to do so. That’s because speech and violence are fundamentally different categories of concern. One may call for a conversation. The other may call for an intervention. Blurring that boundary in everyday life creates confusion, not clarity.
This can lead to serious emotional fallout. Clients tell me they’ve ended friendships, distanced themselves from family, or left jobs because of political or social disagreements that they once would have handled with a spirited discussion. They often say they feel “unsafe” around people with differing views — not because of any actual threat, but because of what those views might represent. That interpretation leads not to empowerment, but to chronic anxiety.
Over time, this kind of hypervigilance doesn’t just shape relationships, it reshapes the self. In therapy, I see people move through the classic defense mechanisms we’re trained to watch for: suppression, repression, and denial. Suppression is when you’re aware of a thought or feeling but actively push it down. Repression is when the mind buries those thoughts so deeply that you’re no longer even conscious of them. Denial occurs when a person distorts their view of reality to avoid an uncomfortable truth.
When people feel they must stifle their thoughts or language to remain socially acceptable, suppression is often the first step. But if suppression becomes a habit, it can slide into repression — people lose access to parts of themselves. Eventually, they may engage in denial: reframing a difficult relationship or viewpoint not as a difference of opinion, but as a danger to be avoided. From a mental health standpoint, this is where we start to see symptoms escalate — more anxiety, more relational conflict, and a diminished capacity to process emotions with nuance.
This dynamic also connects to a broader societal trend. In 2023, the U.S. Surgeon General declared loneliness a public health epidemic. We are more digitally connected than ever — and yet we feel increasingly cut off. That’s partly because people are afraid to express themselves authentically. If you’re always editing what you say — or editing who you are — you’re not really connecting. You’re performing. And performance doesn’t build intimacy.
The goal isn’t to dismiss emotional pain or encourage rudeness. Psychological abuse is real, and words can leave deep scars. But we must be careful not to overextend the concept of harm to the point where disagreement feels dangerous. When that happens, people don’t just walk away from conflict — they walk away from each other.
We also risk missing the bigger picture: that open dialogue is one of the most effective tools we have for growth, both individually and socially. Research in conflict resolution shows that meaningful change often begins with conversation — not censorship. Even in extreme cases — such as hate group de-radicalization — studies repeatedly show that dialogue, not silence, is what moves people out of entrenched thinking.
What we need now is a more balanced framework — one that acknowledges the emotional impact of speech without mistaking it for physical harm. We should be equipping people with emotional skills: the ability to tolerate discomfort, name their feelings, and respond with clarity instead of retreating in fear. These are the building blocks of psychological resilience and they’re far more protective than trying to sanitize the world of anything potentially upsetting.
In my work, I’ve seen that when people stop fearing their own voices — and stop fearing others’ — they grow stronger. They communicate better. They form deeper, more authentic relationships. That doesn’t happen when we treat words like weapons. It happens when we remember what words are for: understanding, connection, and sometimes, respectful disagreement.
Words can hurt. But they can also heal. Let’s not confuse one for the other — because when we do, we risk losing the ability to use language as the powerful, human tool it’s meant to be.
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Dr. Chloe Carmichael is a clinical psychologist, USA Today bestselling author of “Nervous Energy,” and a visiting fellow at Independent Women. Her upcoming book “Can I Say That? Why Free Speech Matters and How to Use It Fearlessly” (Skyhorse, Nov. 2025) explores the mental health benefits of open dialogue and the costs of self-censorship.
The views expressed in this piece are those of the author and do not necessarily represent those of The Daily Wire.