The Weight of Words

The words we hear about our bodies matter more than we think, especially in spaces where we’re learning how to move, heal, and build trust with ourselves. In so many of these spaces, we naturally put trust in the people guiding us, the voices we see as experts, whether that’s a yoga teacher at the front of the room or a medical professional in a clinic.

Because words don’t just stay as words. They have weight. They shape belief. And belief shapes experience.

In both of the worlds I live in, physical therapy and teaching yoga, I’ve seen just how powerful that can be.

When Words Become Meaning

There’s a phrase I’ve heard countless times in movement spaces:

“Keep your knee safe by stacking it above your ankle.” or "Engage your core to protect your spine."

Phrases like these are often said with good intention. And while they may be rooted in an outdated or over simplified understanding of the human body, tissue load, and adaptability (sounds like a future post I need to write), they come from a place of wanting to keep people safe and guide movement in a controlled way.

But underneath it, there’s a subtle message many people internalize without even realizing it. That your body is fragile. That your knee is at risk. That if you move the wrong way, something bad could happen to your spine, etc.

Over time, those ideas can stick. They shape how someone moves, how they think about their body, and even how they experience pain.

The reality is, our bodies are far more adaptable and resilient than we often give them credit for. Our bodies are designed to move through a variety of positions. And out joints are capable and respond to challenge by adapting, not by falling apart.

So, when we reduce movement down to rigid rules, especially ones rooted in fear, we risk teaching people to distrust their own bodies.

A Moment That Stayed with Me

I recently had a patient, a woman in her mid-twenties, who came in already carrying a story about her body. She told me that a previous provider had looked at her imaging and said, “You have the knees of a 60‑year‑old.” And then questioned her active lifestyle, as if it was something she should feel ashamed of.

You could tell the words had landed. Not just as information, but as identity. She moved more cautiously. She second-guessed herself. She worried that every run, every workout, every hike might be making things worse. There was fear where there used to be confidence.

And the hardest part was that nothing about her presentation supported that narrative. Her body wasn’t broken. It wasn’t fragile. It was a normal, capable body that needed support and guidance through a period of healing and recovery, not fear.

That experience stayed with me, not just because of her, but because of what it represented. How quickly words can change the way someone lives in their body.

Placebo, Nocebo, and What We Know

We talk a lot about the placebo effect in both medicine and physical therapy. We know that when someone believes something will help them, it often does. Pain shifts. Symptoms improve. The body responds. We literally see the placebo effect show up in research.

But the other side of that is just as powerful.

This is the nocebo effect, when negative expectations or beliefs lead to worse outcomes, more pain, more limitation, or more fear. It’s not imagined. It’s a real interaction between the mind and body.

If someone believes their knee is damaged and fragile, they may move differently, guard more, or avoid certain positions altogether. And over time, that belief can contribute to real physical changes in how they move and what they feel.

And all of that can start with something as simple as a sentence from a yoga teacher or a clinician.

Teaching Movement Without Fear

This is something I come back to often when I’m teaching yoga. Cueing matters. Not just in terms of alignment, but in the way it frames the body.

It’s one thing to offer guidance that helps someone explore movement with awareness. It’s another to present that guidance in a way that implies there’s danger if they don’t get it exactly right.

Instead of framing cues around protection from harm, I try to frame them around awareness, strength, and option.

Not “don’t let your knee pass your ankle,” but “notice what feels stable here” or “explore where you feel most supported in this position.” Not rules, but invitations. Because yoga is about building connection and awareness, not fear or restriction.

And the same holds true in the clinic. The way we explain pain, injury, and recovery matters just as much as the treatment itself. We’re not just giving information. We’re shaping belief.

Responsibility in the Words We Choose

The more I move through both of these spaces, the more I feel a responsibility to be intentional with my words. Not perfect, but thoughtful. To consider not just what I’m saying, but how it might be received and what it might imply. Because someone might carry that sentence with them long after the class or session ends. They might repeat it to themselves during a workout or their next practice. Or start to question something that once felt natural.

And on the other side, the right words can do something really powerful. They can reassure. They can empower. They can rebuild trust. They can remind someone that their body is capable, adaptable, and resilient.

Coming Back to Awareness

This isn’t about avoiding guidance or pretending movement doesn’t have nuance. It’s about how we communicate it. It’s about creating space for people to feel safe in their bodies, not because they’re avoiding movement, but because they trust themselves within it. It’s about recognizing that the mind and body are connected, and that what we say can influence both. And ultimately, it’s about choosing words that bring people back to themselves, not further away.

So, I’ve been sitting with this question, both as a clinician and as a teacher:

How can I use my words in a way that builds trust instead of fear?

And I’ll leave you with something to reflect on:

What words have you been told about your body that have stayed with you? And how have they shaped the way you move, think, or feel?

Because sometimes, awareness is the first step in rewriting your story.