Words have power. Way more than most people realize.

I mean, think about it, we grow up hearing certain words all the time. Please. Thank you. Sorry. Love. We’re told these are the magic ones. The ones that open doors and smooth over rough edges. And sure, most of the time, that’s true. But what happens when one of those words, one of those “polite” words, ends up causing more harm than good?

For me, that word is please.

To most people, it’s a basic part of good manners. “Say please.” “Use your pleases and thank yous.” It’s drilled into us from the start. But for me, the word please became something darker. Something painful. Something I never wanted to say and hated to hear.

The Secret Behind the Word

See, I grew up in a home where being “polite” was expected. It was a rule, not a suggestion. But while I was learning to be courteous, I was also carrying a secret. A heavy one. The kind of secret that changes the way you look at the world and at yourself. One that makes you feel powerless, voiceless, and trapped.

The kind of secret where a word like please gets twisted into something awful.

Because when I was a kid, please wasn’t about kindness. It was about control. It was a word used in moments I never wanted to live through, moments no child should ever have to endure. A word that he made may say before he hurt me. And even though I didn’t have the words back then to explain what was happening, my body remembered. Still does, sometimes.

Please become a trigger. Not a sign of courtesy, but a cue for distress.

It didn’t stop with the child abuse either. Outside of that, my parents still expected me to use please like any normal kid. But inside, it felt like a betrayal, like I was being forced to play along in a game I didn’t ask to be part of. I couldn’t explain it to them. I didn’t know how. So instead, I kept everything inside. Silent. Angry. Ashamed. I wish someone would just see me. But nobody did.

Growing Up with a Trigger

Fast forward to adulthood, and even now, I struggle with that word. I don’t like making requests. I don’t like feeling like I’m asking for something that might come at a cost. And when I do say please, I often find myself feeling tense, like I’m bracing for something.

But here’s the thing I’m working on, and this part is thanks to therapy, some good people in my corner, and the long (sometimes messy) process of healing. I’m learning that please doesn’t have to be a word of fear. It can be a word of choice. Of agency. Of connection.

There’s this concept called reparenting. Basically, it means giving yourself the love, validation, and care you didn’t get as a kid. And part of that means teaching yourself new meanings. So I’m trying to retrain my brain to see please as something neutral… maybe even good. I won’t lie, it’s still hard. But healing isn’t linear, right?

So, to that little kid version of me who felt like he had no power: I see you now. You weren’t weak; you were surviving. And to the adult me, who still sometimes flinches at six simple letters: You’re doing the work. You’re showing up. And that matters.

Words have power. Yes, they can tear us down. But with time, effort, and a whole lot of self-compassion, they can also help build us back up.

And maybe one day, I’ll say please and mean it not because I have to, but because I want to.