Sticks, stones, and the weight of our words

I was recently talking with one of the nannies on my team, and it sparked a discussion about something many of us grew up hearing without questioning:

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

One early printed version of this rhyme appeared in 1862 in The Christian Recorder, the oldest continuously published African American newspaper in the United States, founded by the African Methodist Episcopal Church.

During the American Civil War, encouraging children not to respond physically to cruel words may have carried a much deeper meaning. It was not simply playground advice, but possibly a lesson in restraint, safety, and survival during a deeply racist and dangerous time.

And still, during our conversation, we found ourselves questioning the expectation hidden inside that advice. It teaches children that words should simply slide off them. It suggests they should not feel pain when someone speaks cruelly.

As she thoughtfully pointed out, verbal violence is still violence. A bruise fades, but a cruel word, a harsh label, or a dismissive comment can stay with a child. Sometimes those words become the voice they hear inside themselves long after the moment has passed.

The truth is, words do hurt. Children do not experience our words only intellectually. They experience them emotionally and physically. A harsh tone, a shaming label, or a dismissive response can feel threatening.

At the same time, our conversation kept circling back to another question. If we teach children that words can hurt, are we also teaching them to give too much power to what other people say? Don’t we also want children to grow up with enough confidence to know that someone else’s opinion does not define them?

Perhaps the goal is not to teach children that words do not matter, nor to teach them that every unkind comment should be carried forever. Maybe the lesson lies somewhere in between: words have the power to hurt and heal, and we should use them with care, but we can also help children build a strong sense of self that is not determined by every opinion they encounter.

The reality of our words

As our conversation continued, she asked a powerful question: “So, how do we teach children that words hurt?”

For me, the answer begins with empathy.

Instead of telling children to brush things off, we have to help them understand how words feel. We have to teach them to pause, reflect, and imagine another person’s experience.

This goes beyond forcing a quick, mumbled “I’m sorry” on the playground. It means getting down on their level and asking, “Look at your friend’s face right now. How do you think those words made them feel?”

We want children to recognize that what they say has real weight. Their words can wound or comfort, disconnect or repair.

Of course, teaching this is not always easy. When a child spills juice again, refuses to listen, or leaves a mess behind, it can be tempting for adults to react quickly. Sometimes that reaction comes out as a careless label: “You are so clumsy,” “Why are you always such a mess?” or “You never listen.”

But those words do not teach a child how to do better. They teach the child something about themselves.

That is the danger of labels. A child may forget the exact situation, but they may remember the feeling of being called difficult, dramatic, careless, or too much. Over time, those words can become part of how they see themselves.

Words are not only about vocabulary. They are also about tone, timing, volume, and the emotional energy behind them. The same message can land differently depending on how it is delivered. A firm boundary can help a child feel safe. A shaming sentence can make a child feel small.

Children are sensitive to the emotional tone of the adults around them. When an adult uses words that shame or frighten, a child is not calmly absorbing a lesson. They are trying to feel safe again.

This is why our words matter in ordinary moments. The way we respond to a messy room, a tantrum, or a mistake becomes part of the emotional environment a child grows up inside.

The power of repair

If we want to raise emotionally resilient children, we have to begin by paying attention to our own words. We have to notice our tone, our reactions, and the climate we create.

Children learn as much from how we speak as from what we say. They are watching how we handle frustration. They are learning what respect sounds like during conflict.

We are human. There will be moments when we snap, react too quickly, or say something we wish we had not said.

When that happens, the most powerful thing we can do is repair.

Saying to a child, “I am sorry I called you clumsy earlier. I was frustrated about the spill, but it is never okay for me to use hurtful words,” teaches accountability and humility. It also shows children how to repair their own words when they hurt someone else.

Sticks and stones may break bones, but words can shape the way a child understands themselves and others.

Maybe it is time to retire the old playground rhyme and teach children something more honest: words matter. The words children say to each other matter. The words adults say to children matter. They can hurt, and they can heal.

And if we want children to use their words with care, we have to show them what that looks like through empathy, accountability, and repair. At the same time, we can teach them that while words may sting, they do not get to decide who they are.

Because the way children learn to speak to others often begins with the way the world first speaks to them. And long after bruises fade, the words children hear often become the words they say to themselves.