Give Sorrow Words
How Language Makes the Unbearable Knowable and Therefore Bearable
Do we talk too much? Too little? Do we speak to reveal, or to hide? Do we use words to connect, or to control? Do our words clarify, or confuse? Do they liberate us, or keep us trapped in old stories? Words were the first tools humanity used to make sense of itself, and now, still, they remain our most powerful means of making meaning. Long before we can solve a problem, heal a wound, or understand what we're feeling, we grasp for words.
So often I am asked, and have asked myself, what could possibly be so healing about therapy when, truly, it is just a conversation? Is there something more to the talking that takes place in talk therapy? How can an hourly exchange of words between two people be so transformative? This question speaks to a cultural underestimation of language’s power, especially when it comes to emotion. Yet across traditions, philosophies, and psychologies, the spoken word has always been seen and used as a central tool for understanding and transforming the self. William Shakespeare, centuries before the advent of modern psychotherapy, put it plainly in Macbeth:
"Give sorrow words: the grief that does not speak whispers the o'er-fraught heart and bids it break." [Act 4, Scene 3] Malcolm tells Macduff to verbalise his grief, rather than suppress it, as silent grief can be more damaging.
Language is more than a way to describe feelings; it is a way to contain, clarify, organise, regulate, and ultimately transform them. When we put thoughts and emotions into words, something fundamental changes. What was once vague and overwhelming begins to take form. Internal chaos becomes articulate. The simple act of naming our experience allows it to be brought into the light of day, where it can be inspected, processed, understood, and integrated into the broader story of who we are. This process is more than intellectual.
Speaking our mental contents allows them to shift from the realm of the unconscious or automatic into the realm of the mindful, cognizant and conscious. This process of making the unconscious conscious is where self-mastery finds its foundation. It is a process that allows choice where there was once compulsion. Our emotional responses, once reflexive and out of our control, become open to examination and modulation. We are no longer just acted upon by our emotions, we begin to act with them, or even through them, with intention. The clarity that comes through language can open the door to new possibilities, solutions and insights that were previously invisible when emotion was clouded, inchoate, or held in silence. Words create order where there was once confusion.
"Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call it fate." Carl Jung
However, in the choreography of therapy, verbalising a thought or feeling or dilemma only initiates the process. The therapist, then, must listen. It’s a very particular kind of listening that friends, family, and colleagues rarely, if ever, offer to us. It involves all the senses. I listen not only to what words are said, but also to what words are not. I listen for what is inferred, what is hidden, how it is hidden, and what it is hiding under. I listen to the storyline and for themes. As the client speaks and unravels, I seek to develop a sense of the associative networks behind the client’s interpretations of their experiences. Language facilitates this process entirely on its own.
So many people go their entire lives without ever experiencing what it is like to articulate to someone their thoughts, feelings, opinions, and have that person truly listen. It is a tragedy. There is unbelievable value in attempting to formulate a thought into words, to hear yourself say it, and then to hear it repeated back to you. Clients relay thoughts that have occupied the corners of their minds for years without surfacing. The therapist listens, without judgment or assumption, and unlocks a space for those thoughts to be expanded, explored, and challenged. I see the level of solace from simply being listened to in their faces. It is truly a beautiful process.
Importantly, language is also the bridge to others beyond therapy. Many emotional wounds are suffered in silence and isolation; to speak of them is not only an act of self-expression but also of connection. Being heard, truly heard, by another person restores a sense of relational safety. It activates the emotion-regulating systems of attachment and calms the nervous system in truly profound ways. It is from this relational and symbiotic flow of words, this honest and mutual transaction of feeling, that we begin to develop deeper capacities for empathy, intimacy, and emotional resilience. The act of giving voice to our pain not only soothes it but builds the psychological muscles that allow us to bear life’s challenges with greater strength. Over time, our ability to be honest, to be vulnerable, and to connect deeply with others grows. Emotional healing and emotional growth become intertwined.
"Language is the house of Being. In its home man dwells." Martin Heidegger
In truth, “just talking” is never just talking. It is a reorganisation of the psyche; sometimes subtle, other times remarkable. It is a form of emotional alchemy that turns confusion into clarity, isolation into connection, and pain into the beginning of wisdom. To give sorrow words is not to weaken it—it is to redeem it.
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This was a well-written and engaging post, kudos Zahra! As someone who has been trying to learn more about Jungian psychology, I appreciated the Jung quote about the unconscious. Language made manifest as physical speech really is the manner by which the unconscious can be brought to the fore and given life, and it can also help us connect to each other on a fundamental level. It also helps relieve the pressure and burden of previous wrongs and insults done to us, by allowing us to give voice to that which we hide to avoid shame and judgment
Great piece. Thanks.