Most of us long for a better relationship with our body. Maybe you want to eat better but find it hard to make changes. Or you can’t seem to get yourself off the couch to exercise. Perhaps you judge your body as too old, too fat, too small, too awkward, too whatever, and you let these thoughts limit what you do physically. Maybe you are so focused on looking a certain way that you have become disembodied. Or perhaps you spend so much time in your head — analyzing, problem-solving, and getting your work done — that you forget about your body altogether.

Your body has its own genius — an incredible ability to maintain balance, heal itself, and adapt to internal and external challenges. It operates complex systems like hormones and blood sugar, fights off infections, and repairs cell damage, all while adjusting to the rhythms of your daily life. An endocrinologist once told me she’d rather fly a 747 with no training than try to run a pancreas — it’s that complex and amazing.

A wise relationship with your body is an embodied one. Embodiment means inhabiting your body, understanding and responding to physical sensations, and expressing yourself physically. It gives you an authentic, powerful presence.

Think about people you’ve met who seem truly “embodied” —­ the way they confidently walk into a room, dance with their eyes closed, or intuitively place a hand on their chest when something moves them deeply. It’s a grounded confidence, a connection between body and mind.

When do you feel most embodied? Is it during a workout, while tossing a football with your kids, or when laughing with friends? It might show up in moments of strength, creativity, or connection —­ doing physical labor, being outside, moving to music, or having sex.

Embodiment isn’t just physical; it’s how you inhabit your life. Do you feel like you are “in” your body? Are you aware of what’s happening inside you?

Embodiment begins with curiosity — specifically with getting curious about your body’s signals. If your body could tell you what it’s been like to be your body, what would it say? What would your stomach say? Your thighs? Your eyes? And what would these body parts say they need from you?

Try this for yourself. Take a piece of paper and title it “A Letter From My Body.” Then let your body speak. What has it endured? What does it long for? Are there parts of you that feel neglected, exhausted, or unappreciated? Are there parts that you’ve criticized that might be asking for compassion?

Once you’ve written your letter, read it to yourself. Let your body’s message sink in. If you feel inspired, write a response —­ one of understanding, kindness, and commitment to treating your body differently.

Pay Deep Attention

An important step in embodiment is developing interoception — the ability to sense what’s happening inside your body. This internal awareness includes noticing your heartbeat, breath, hunger, and energy level.

But interoception isn’t just a body-­awareness tool; it’s a life-­awareness tool. Research links it to improved mental health, more mindful eating habits, and better decision-­making.

Even in high-­stakes environments, interoception plays a critical role. Stock-­market traders with stronger awareness of their heartbeat make better trades and earn more money. Even therapists who can better sense their own physiological changes can better detect and respond to client distress.

My doctoral research focused on interoceptive awareness of appetite signals —­ helping individuals struggling with eating and weight concerns reconnect with their hunger and fullness cues. It’s fascinating, and a little heartbreaking, that we have to relearn something that came so naturally to us as kids. But it’s not surprising when you consider how much our modern environment pulls us away from our bodies.

Linda Stone, a former Microsoft executive, coined the term “screen apnea” to describe the phenomenon in which we tend to breathe more shallowly or even hold our breath when using screens.

Linda Stone, a former Microsoft executive, coined the term “screen apnea” to describe the phenomenon in which we tend to breathe more shallowly or even hold our breath when using screens. Stone did some kitchen-­table science (not randomized or controlled) on the topic and found that 80 percent of the colleagues and friends she tested had shallow or suspended breathing while working on a screen. The clincher? Those 20 percent who didn’t show screen apnea were folks who tended to be pretty embodied — dancers, singers, a triathlete, and a cellist.

Since screens are an unavoidable part of life, the wise response isn’t to resist them but to create reminders to stay present in your body. Something as simple as a Post-­it note on your screen saying Breathe or Check in can help you look up, take a deep breath, and reconnect with yourself.

Or you could write the acronym HEART. It covers a lot of the bases of interoception:

• Hunger: Am I hungry or full?
• Emotion: What emotions do I feel in my body right now?
• Activity: Is my body craving physical movement?
• Rest: Am I tired or low on energy?
• Tension: Do I notice stress, pain, or tightness anywhere?

HEART is a quick mental check-­in that helps you scan your body for its most essential signals: hunger, movement, emotions, fatigue, and stress. From there, you can respond with whatever meets the need — a snack, a stretch, a nap, a phone call to a friend, or some self-­massage.

Your body is always talking to you. What is it saying? Do you need a big sigh? To release some tension in your neck? To head outside for a walk? Try HEART right now. When you open to your body’s sensations, you also open to its intuition. Maybe your body is whispering something bigger than just its need for a rest — maybe ­it’s telling you it’s time to take a different life path.

Open Up to Intuition

Intuition is a felt sense, a nudge, that gives you clues about a situation, decision, or person. For years, during my struggles with disordered eating, I wasn’t just disconnected from my body’s physical signals —­ I had also shut down my inner knowing. I cut myself off from what I wanted, longed for, knew in my heart was true for me. In my recovery journey, and in my work with clients, I’ve found that when we start listening to our bodies, we hear more than just I’m hungry or I’m tired. We begin to receive deeper messages:

• I need to say no to this, even though everyone is telling me to say yes.
• Something feels off.
• I’m being pulled toward something new.

Tuning in to my body’s wisdom has guided some of my biggest life decisions. It nudged me to say yes to a first date with my husband. It encouraged me to lead retreats, even when I wasn’t sure I was ready. It shapes how I parent my kids. But learning to trust this knowing didn’t happen overnight. I had to consciously open up to my body and practice listening.

Over the years, I’ve developed a simple way to access my intuition: checking in for a whole-body yes or a whole-body no when making decisions.

A whole-body yes feels expansive, clear, even energizing. A whole-body no, on the other hand, comes with tension.

A whole-body yes feels expansive, clear, even energizing. A whole-body no, on the other hand, comes with tension:­ I feel it in my clenched stomach or tight shoulders. I’ve learned the hard way that when I override a whole-body no, I pay the price later. I am stuck in things I don’t really want to do, and it depletes my energy. But intuition doesn’t have to work alone. Once you check in with your body, you can cross-reference with other sources of wisdom:

• Trusted friends and family: Get perspective from people who know you well.
• Experts and evidence: Seek guidance from those with experience or research in the area.
• Problem-­solving mind: Use logic and critical thinking to analyze the situation.

When these sources align with your body’s knowing, you can trust that you’re making a wise, informed decision.

Science has a complicated relationship with intuition. Some researchers warn that while intuition can be fast and efficient, it’s also prone to biases and errors — especially in complex situations requiring careful analysis. But that doesn’t mean we should dismiss it entirely.

Rather, we can view intuition as a powerful decision-making tool when balanced with wisdom. Like any skill, it improves with practice and reflection. So before making a choice, pause and ask yourself: Is this a whole-body yes? Is this a whole-body no?

Then, give yourself the space to settle into a wise answer.

We were born connected to our bodies, inhabiting them fully, trusting them, and using them to communicate and experience pleasure. At some point in life, for a variety of reasons, many of us lose this loving connection and our ability to inhabit our bodies fully. Now is your chance to reclaim the energy that comes with being embodied. You can use wise effort to care for your body and enjoy this lifelong, ever-­changing adventure. Listen for the whole-­body yes, and your genius body will show you the way.

This excerpt is from Diana Hill’s book Wise Effort: How to Focus Your Genius Energy on What Matters Most(September 2025) and is reprinted with permission from Sounds True.

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“Mirror, mirror on the wall: Who’s the fairest of them all?”

The Evil Queen in the fairy tale “Snow White” is a classic narcissist, so consumed by envy that she attempts to take her own stepdaughter’s life.

Narcissists believe they’re the fairest (or most successful, intelligent, or powerful) one of all, and they’re not afraid to flaunt it.

Grandiosity — an inflated sense of one’s own greatness — is a hallmark of narcissism. Narcissists often exaggerate their accomplishments, expecting recognition and admiration even when their achievements aren’t necessarily all that impressive. To a narcissist, people who don’t recognize how special the narcissist is must not be special enough to understand them.

Narcissists tend to look down on those they perceive as “lesser than” — but are even more threatened by those who outrank them. Like the Evil Queen, they become consumed by envy and can grow irritated, vengeful, or downright enraged when they’re not at the top of the ladder.

Unsurprisingly, narcissists are not easy people to be around. A preoccupation with power and prestige coupled with an absence of empathy compels many narcissists to manipulate others for their own purposes. They don’t take responsibility for their actions and are prone to deflecting, blaming, or lashing out at those who question them. Entitlement rules the day.

You might not notice these qualities when you first meet a narcissist: They know how to feign agreeableness when it serves them, and many are downright charming. Their confidence can be attractive, and their drive to succeed no matter the cost can propel them to positions of real power: A 2021 Stanford University study found that 18 percent of corporate CEOs are narcissists — well above the average population prevalence.

Still, there are fewer narcissists than the recent preoccupation with them would suggest. True clinical narcissists represent at most about 6 percent of the population, according to the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM-5).

“We have to be careful not to underestimate or overestimate the seriousness of a disorder or the prevalence of a disorder like narcissism,” writes Peter Salerno, PsyD, in his book The Nature and Nurture of Narcissism. “The term ‘narcissism’ was never intended to be used by the general public the way it has been used in recent years.”

Identifying someone you’re dealing with as a true narcissist means not only recognizing the characteristics of narcissism but also discerning between narcissistic tendencies and a narcissistic personality disorder. That’s not as easy as it may seem. And coping with these traits when they appear in a loved one, friend, or coworker can be even more daunting.

What Makes a Narcissist?

There is strong evidence of a genetic component to narcissism, Salerno notes. And there’s even stronger evidence of distinct neurological features: Neuroimaging studies show that narcissists have less gray matter in regions of the brain associated with empathy and self-awareness, as well as irregularities in areas associated with emotion regulation, social cognition, and impulse control, he writes.

Does that mean people are born narcissistic? Not necessarily.

A child raised by one or more narcissistic parents is at higher risk of both inheriting a genetic predisposition and being conditioned to value status and minimize the needs of others, making it hard to distinguish between nature and nurture. And because we can’t identify narcissists at birth, there’s no way to know whether those brain differences are organic or developed over time.

Moreover, personality types aren’t like blood types. They are subjective, multifaceted, and exist on a spectrum.

This is especially true with narcissistic-like tendencies. Many people can be arrogant at times, and most of us like to feel admired — but imagine if everyone who posted a filtered selfie was deemed clinically narcissistic.

What’s more, it can be difficult to tease out external factors that sometimes underlie narcissistic behaviors.

Childhood trauma, substance abuse, head injuries, and even developmental stages like adolescence can engender a tendency toward thoughtlessness, aggression, or insensitivity. Some social psychologists have even argued that the Evil Queen was less a narcissist than a victim of patriarchal beauty standards — and thus someone who merely displayed narcissistic tendencies.

To meet the criteria for a clinical diagnosis of narcissistic personality disorder, a mental health professional must first rule out other variables. Additionally, the narcissistic traits must be persistent and inflexible: A narcissist is a narcissist no matter the situation.

“Symptoms come and go,” Salerno writes. “Personality disorders don’t.”

Which brings up an important question: Can narcissism be treated?

Unmaking a Narcissist

A small 2024 study by four Harvard Medical School doctors found that, after years of psychotherapy, narcissistic individuals may be able to reduce or eliminate certain traits and behaviors. But no large clinical trials have conclusively demonstrated that the disorder can be cured.

Psychotherapy aimed at fostering social skills like collaboration and accepting constructive feedback may help narcissistic individuals develop healthier relationships, but therapy is only as effective as the client is motivated.

“[Narcissists’] personality trait pathology limits their insight, so they typically deny any responsibility for their circumstances,” explains Salerno.

He contends that narcissism can be treated, but only if the individual wants to change, believes change is necessary, and is willing to practice new ways of behaving. It’s a tall, but not impossible, order.

Even if a narcissist doesn’t change their stripes, you can change how you deal with them.

Navigating Around a Narcissist

If there’s a narcissist in your life, the following strategies can be useful when dealing with their difficult personalities.

1. Set firm boundaries: Guardrails are essential when you maintain a relationship with a narcissist. Use specific language and declarative sentences (“I’ll drop the kids off at your parents’ house at noon”), and keep interactions to a minimum. Some experts recommend engaging only in the bare minimum of communication, but this approach can trigger a backlash if the narcissist feels slighted. You may find that injecting a small amount of warmth into the interactions (“Hope you’re enjoying the holidays”) maintains civility without compromising your boundaries or well-being.
2. Avoid confrontation: Narcissists typically don’t respond well to criticism, even when you try to deliver it as constructively and kindly as possible. This is especially true when it comes to feedback about their behavior and how it impacts others. No matter how carefully you explain the way they make you feel, a narcissist will likely get defensive and even retaliate. Don’t expect empathy from them concerning your feelings. Save your time and emotional energy — confrontation is rarely worth it.
3. Beware of DARVO: If you choose to stand your ground, watch out for what’s known as DARVO, an acronym for Deny, Attack, Reverse Victim and Offender. This is how narcissists often flip the script on those who dare to question or challenge them. By casting doubt on your credibility and casting themselves as a victim, narcissists not only avoid taking responsibility but also may gain sympathy from others. Pay attention to when you’re getting confused or overwhelmed. And try not to take the bait by arguing back.
4. Safely sort through your experience: Negotiating with a narcissist may not get you anywhere, but it’s still essential to find someone else who will listen to you and validate your feelings. A narcissist’s tendency to minimize, deflect, or deny the impact of their behavior can make you question your reality. Find a safe person with whom you can process your experience and regain your bearings.
5. Cut ties: If all else fails, you may end up having to cut off contact with a narcissist. It’s normal to feel guilt or sadness even if you know that separation is the right call — especially if the narcissist is someone important in your life, like a family member. Remember that distance can provide much-needed space to heal.

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Navigate directly to A Flow to Move Through Hard Times

A strength coach once shared some training wisdom that has stayed with me through the years: “Move where you can so you can move where you can’t.”

In a literal sense, the aphorism applies to improving range of motion in, say, a squat. Rather than force your body into an uncomfortable position or depth, approach your personal edges, train strength and resilience there — and in time your body will find more space to move.

Figuratively, I’ve found this also to be true of moving through grief.

I previously shared the story of a recent, intense bout of grief — triggered by the death of a beloved pet, an unfulfilled creative venture, and the general state of the world — and how it led me to train as a grief movement guide. (Read about this experience at “Mourning Movement.”)

The mission of grief movement, developed by trauma-informed yoga instructor Paul Denniston, is to use breath, movement, and sound to transform pain. Not to erase the feelings of sadness, anger, fear, or worry (nor to pretend everything is fine when it feels like your world is burning) but to find a way to keep living with it.

Grief, as many know, can become a constant companion. But it doesn’t have to exist at the expense of love and joy.

This proved truer than ever when, shortly after I completed Denniston’s course, my father was diagnosed with a rare, aggressive, and ultimately fatal form of cancer.

My dad was always my best teacher. When I was little, he drilled multiplication tables in lieu of bedtime stories and showed me the rings of Saturn through a backyard telescope.

An engineer turned chef, he taught me how to drive and how to make his favorite Persian stew. He was a lifelong student of science and philosophy; he introduced me to the limitations of theology and the possibilities of theoretical physics.

Together, late at night, we would discuss the mysteries of the universe. And what greater mystery, to those of us who live, than death.

The teachings and musings of our 41 years together came to a head during the final days of my father’s life. The last coherent words he said to me, as our family was debating whether it was time to start hospice, were “You know.”

And he was right. I did know. We’d been talking about it and around it for decades, and I knew his beliefs and his wishes around the end of life.

But knowing didn’t make anything about losing this person — so foundational to my own existence — any easier.

Taking care of myself in a moment when all I wanted to do was take care of my family was a challenge. But I had learned that I didn’t need to lose myself to anxiety and worry in the process.

During quiet moments in the hospital and late at night when sleep eluded me, I turned to my body for wisdom and healing. Six movements I learned through the grief movement course rose to the top as ways to stay present and keep my emotions moving rather than squashed down to be processed later, if at all.

Shoulder Release and Sufi Grind helped me bring awareness to my breath and body and keep tension from building up in any one place.

Cannon Breath and Breaking the Chains gave me space to express the feelings of anger, frustration, helplessness, and regret that inevitably bubbled up.

Love Taps, while speaking my feelings aloud, helped me find and nurture the root of my grief, my love for my father.

And Forward Fold offered me a place of surrender — not to give up, but to give in. On the most basic level, I gave in to the power of gravity, a true and necessary force that I cannot control but can accept.

From there, I could accept other truths: that death is not the opposite of life, but an integral part of it. That sadness is not the opposite of joy. That grief over what’s lost is not the opposite of gratitude for what was, for what still is, and for what will be.

Each of these moves can be performed alone or together as a seated flow. I offer them as an invitation to anyone who is grieving.

A Flow to Move Through Hard Times

Shoulder Release

1. From a comfortable seated position, on an inhale, bring both hands to your heart in tight fists and lift both shoulders to your ears.
2. As you exhale, allow your hands to relax and come back down to your thighs as you lower your shoulders. Be aware of any tension that remains and soften it with each repetition.
3. Continue the shoulder release three more times, then come back to your natural breath.

Sufi Grind

1. From a comfortable seated position, place your hands on your knees.
2. Moving from your waist, circle your torso in one direction, shifting forward, to the side, backward, to the other side, and so on.
3. Continue making large circles as you observe your breath. Connect to your core for support as you gently open and move your spine.
4. After one to two minutes, reverse directions, repeating the same large circles with your torso, at your own pace, for the same amount of time.

Cannon Breath

1. From a comfortable seated position, bring your fists to your belly.
2. Observe your natural breath.
3. Inhale three quick breaths through your nose and fill your diaphragm with air.
4. Next, in a powerful release, exhale strongly through your mouth, voicing a loud “Ha!” as if releasing a cannonball. Push your palms in toward your navel as you vocalize to clear out any stale oxygen as you open your throat.
5. Continue for one minute, repeating this sequence at your own pace.

Breaking the Chains

1. From a comfortable seated position, hold your arms in front of your chest, bent at the elbows, with one forearm on top of the other.
2. Make tight fists with your hands. Imagine and connect to where you’re feeling stuck.
3. Inhale deeply. As you exhale, push both elbows back with a powerful “Ha!”
4. Continue for one to three minutes, repeating the sequence at your own pace.

Love Taps

1. From a comfortable seated position, bring your hands to your heart.
2. Take a deep inhale, and take a deep exhale.
3. Lightly begin to tap your chest and heart with your fingertips. State aloud how you are feeling: “I am . . . .” Don’t assign any judgment to what you feel; say it honestly and be a witness to it.
4. Continue to tap and speak for one to two minutes.

Forward Fold

1. Sit on your chair with your feet parallel and hip width apart. Move your feet a little forward to support you. Plant both feet firmly to the floor.
2. Fold forward over your thighs, softening your body and allowing gravity to pull you down. Release your hands to the floor or onto your feet. Gently bounce or shake your head, if you’d like. Run your fingers through your hair, if it feels good.
3. Breathe deeply into your lower back.
4. Observe sensations that arise. All you have to do is be. Stay here as long as feels right.
5. When you’re ready, slowly roll up one vertebra at a time.
6. Breathe deeply.

Move Your Body Through Grief

With Maggie Fazeli Fard

We all experience grief. Whether it’s due to the loss of a loved one, a scary health diagnosis, a breakup, a change in life circumstance, or some other cause, it’s a feeling we often need to learn to live with. Maggie Fazeli Fard, RKC, MFT-1, Experience Life’s editorial director of fitness, explains how physical movement can be used as a tool to help transform your grief.

Listen Now  >

The post Moving Through Grief appeared first on Experience Life.

It was a few weeks into my client’s training for an upcoming race and she was tired. She shared how her daily workout loomed, a little black cloud following her from room to room. The reminder on her calendar was just another stress point. We noticed and named the thoughts that were at the helm of her mind: Why did I sign up for this race? This feels impossible. What was I thinking?

Her mind did what the mind does during any long-term endeavor — it began to question. It wanted to quit.

I’d wager this is a familiar sentiment for anyone in their pursuit of a resolution. As a holistic performance coach and ultrarunner, I have often encountered this feeling. It surges right when the effort gets sticky. We might realize how unsustainable our new changes are, or life responsibilities might get in the way. The desired change might not align with our values, or our heart was never really in it. Or we are tired, overwhelmed, stressed.

The good news? We get to choose our next step.

We can choose to recommit, adapt, or let go. We can slow down to pay attention, ask ourselves important questions, and act in a small, mighty way. After all, it’s our life — what do we actually want to do with it?

The Power of Recommitting

Recently, I was 50 miles into a 100-mile trail race in the mountains. I was mentally foggy and my body hurt all over. As I collapsed onto a cot at an aid station, a thought wriggled its way into my psyche: You could stop. There are shuttles to drive you back. This could be over.

When we are midprocess toward a long-term goal, the urge to quit naturally arises. The work gets hard. We may negotiate with ourselves. Our tired minds may create thoughts that can prompt us to select an easier, more comfortable, route.

At that mile marker, I was ready for this. I shuffled through my drop bag — a plastic bag I had prepared with items I might need. Along with nutrition and salt tablets, “starting-line me” had placed a note from my family in the bag. I unfolded the paper and heaved gratitude at the sprawling words: “You Inspire Us” — signed by my little nieces and nephews.

It was a tiny moment of mental jet fuel, reminding me of my why. I started this race because I wanted to test my capabilities and show younger generations what was possible. I set my focus on getting up from the cot, then out of the aid station, and then back up the trail, one step at a time toward the finish. I recommitted.

Three things can give us the necessary power to keep moving forward: support, reconnecting to our why, and setting small and realistic goals. When we experience a small accomplishment, it can empower us to keep moving forward.

This may be a group class we enjoy, a walk after work, a step goal for the afternoon — or in my case, getting up from the cot and leaving the aid station. Add a sense of community or accountability from people who help us remember why we started this endeavor, and we have a potent formula for momentum.

The Flexibility to Adapt

When my client and I began to investigate her thoughts on quitting, it sparked some curiosity about the reality of her ever-changing life. She acknowledged that she felt more trapped than inspired by the time goal she set for her race. So we got curious, explored options, and gave her a chance to adapt to her life and edit her goals. Instead of striving to finish by a certain time, she committed to showing up at the start line healthy and happy.

The science of resiliency supports adaptation. It can do more harm than good to force our way toward an ideal vision for ourselves, potentially pressing us toward burnout. The ability to reshape our goals so they align with our life can be a powerful skillset. We may have a physical setback, like an injury, or an emotional one, like an unexpected death in the family; we deserve to acknowledge those and edit our goals appropriately.

The well-known Serenity Prayer captures this as the speaker asks for serenity to accept the things they cannot change, the courage to change the things they can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

The Joy of Letting Go

Then again, we’re not necessarily meant to reach all our goals. Forcing ourselves to follow through might not be worth it. The strain or misalignment to our values may become evident. When we let that goal go, our mental and physical well-being can improve. In fact, research suggests that abandoning a goal that no longer serves us or supports our values may even lower inflammation. This is important because chronic inflammatory responses (stress) can cause cardiovascular issues.

Take a moment to consider your goals. Ask yourself the following questions:

1. Why is this goal important?
2. How does this goal align with my values?
3. How does this goal fit into my life?
4. If it’s not aligning with my life circumstances or values, how can I change it so that it does?

Give yourself time to reflect on your progress so far and allow yourself the gift to recommit, adapt, or let go.

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At one point or another, we’ve all been on the receiving end of hurtful language. Maybe someone said something that made you feel unwelcome, unseen, or disrespected. Perhaps somebody dismissed you, or carelessly used words that caused you pain.

On the other hand, maybe you fret over ever-changing guidelines of what is OK and not OK to say. Perhaps you worry about offending someone who matters to you — or being “canceled” for using the wrong words in a work or social setting. Or maybe you’re irritated at having to keep up with the latest politically correct language.

(Maybe all of these are true for you!)

Language evolves constantly. New ideas and technologies, as well as shifts in population, culture, identity, and social norms, all bring with them new words and phrases, as well as new ways of relating to others. And though some shifts in language are organic (when did we stop saying “groovy” and “gnarly”?), others reflect a conscious, collaborative effort.

Inclusive language seeks to consider more carefully people whose perspectives have historically been ignored, erased, or dismissed as less important. It’s not so much about political correctness as it is about using language more accurately and more effectively.

To help us understand why inclusive language matters and how to use it, we spoke with linguistic anthropologist Suzanne Wertheim, PhD, author of The Inclusive Language Field Guide: 6 Simple Principles for Avoiding Painful Mistakes and Communicating Respectfully.

Language as Action

You may remember the childhood retort: “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.” While words may not break bones, they can cause damage.

“Language is social action,” explains Wertheim. “When you are saying something, you are doing something.” Notably we are building, maintaining, or damaging relationships with the words we use. Every conversation with a family member, colleague, friend, customer, or service provider can cause that relationship to improve or deteriorate.

“For a lot of people, inclusive language is a list of words. For me, it’s a set of behaviors,” says Wertheim, whose academic and consulting work has centered on the role of language in effective human interactions. “It’s what’s happening when interactions go well — when people leave feeling like the relationship they have is more solid.”

“[Inclusive language] is what’s happening when interactions go well — when people leave feeling like the relationship they have is more solid.”

What’s going on when interactions don’t go well?

Often, it’s problematic language that leaves people — typically those with less social, professional, or political power — feeling marginalized or overlooked. And this can have real consequences.

Consider the patient who is admonished by his physician and told his maladies come down to his being “fat” (regardless of other possible causes). He is more likely to delay — or avoid — future healthcare interactions.

Consider the Black businesswoman who is told she should straighten her hair to appear more “professional.” What message is she receiving about her worth at her organization?

“Sometimes a single word is the last straw that causes someone to finally give up on a friend or teacher or boss,” says Wertheim.

Modern Language Etiquette

If we reflect on just the last few decades, it’s easy to see how much our ideas about acceptable language (and behavior) have changed. Many movies and TV shows from the 1980s, 1990s, and 2000s include sexist, racist, homophobic, and body-shaming tropes that probably wouldn’t get past studio executives — or audiences — today.

“There were whole groups of people it was OK to be disrespectful of, push to the margins, or ignore altogether,” says Wertheim.

Today we know better — but it can still be hard to do better.

It all comes down to treating people like people and using language that does not take away from their humanity.

How can we build trusting relationships with people whose lived experiences are different from our own? How can we be polite when we can’t always know what will cause offense?

It comes down largely to good intent and honest effort. “Very small language changes have so many positive downstream effects,” says Wertheim. “They buy you grace for any mistakes you might be making.”

And when you inevitably make mistakes, she notes that apologizing, taking responsibility, and trying to do better can foster more trust than if you hadn’t made the mistake at all.

6 Principles of Inclusive Language

By using inclusive language, we pay attention to the people whose perspectives historically haven’t been considered — people who have been underrepresented or marginalized, says Wertheim. Based on data she’s collected across cultures and languages, Wertheim has identified six principles that can serve as a guiding star for evaluating words and phrases we want to use.

1) Reflect reality.

Problematic language distorts reality; inclusive language reflects it. When we neglect to address someone as they wish to be addressed, for example — such as by refusing to acknowledge their gender identity — we deny that person’s lived experience as well as the reality of human diversity.

“As long as people have been people, we have shown up with different bodies, different abilities, different sexual orientations, different genders,” says Wertheim.

From principle to practice
If someone reveals their pronouns, use them. Instead of using language that suggests gender is binary (such as “the opposite sex”), use language that reflects a more complex reality (such as “another gender”).

2) Show respect.

Our discomfort around people we consider “other” can cause us to be unintentionally disrespectful. For example, we may not think anything of saying, “I’m afraid I’m going to butcher your name” when we meet someone with a “different” or “difficult” name, but the “flavor” of such explanatory language is unpleasant at best.

In her work, Wertheim has spoken with people with foreign names who share that coworkers not only avoid saying their names but also seem to avoid speaking to them or even making eye contact.

From principle to practice
When you encounter someone with a name you don’t know how to pronounce, say “I want to make sure I say and spell your name correctly. Can you help me?”

3) Draw people in.

Problematic language, which excludes people rather than draws them in, is especially common when talking about, and with, disabled people, says Wertheim. Approximately 42.5 million Americans have a disability; they are the largest minority in the United States, according to the National Institutes of Health.

Some people make inappropriate or intrusive comments on the bodies and capabilities of disabled people. (“Wow, you dress really well for a blind person!”) Meanwhile, we may use words as insults today that began as scientific or descriptive terminology, such as “crip,” “spaz,” “lame,” or “retarded.”

From principle to practice
Be more precise — and thoughtful — in your language. Instead of “lame,” for example, try “boring” or “dull.” Don’t express surprise that disabled people are competent and capable.

4) Incorporate other perspectives.

Different lived experiences can lead to different reactions to the same situation. If you find yourself thinking I wouldn’t mind if someone said that to me, Wertheim invites you to broaden your perspective.

For example, wishing strangers a happy Mother’s Day or Father’s Day may feel polite to you. But not everyone receives that greeting well, particularly if they are estranged from a parent, have lost a child, or are struggling to conceive.

From principle to practice
Learn about differences in other people’s experiences, norms, and values. One way is to diversify your media: Think about a group of people that is unfamiliar to you and seek out ways to connect with individuals who identify as part of that community. Books, social media accounts, and shows or movies produced by and featuring members of the community can be valuable resources.

5) Prevent erasure.

When U.S. history is presented from the perspective of people of European descent (for example, “America was founded as a country of immigrants!”), the experiences of Indigenous people and enslaved people brought here against their will are discounted.

Or, when using English words that center the male perspective (such as “chairman,” “mankind,” and “manmade” — or the catch-all phrase “hey, guys!”) the perspectives of women and people of other genders are not considered. These are examples of erasure.

From principle to practice
Do some research on your own town or state and learn about who inhabited the area before it was colonized. In your everyday language, opt for gender-neutral terms: “committee chair,” “humankind,” or “synthetic.” Try “y’all” or “hey, everyone!”

6) Recognize pain points.

We tend to use mental health terms loosely, often to intensify our meaning. We might say someone has “mad skills” or is “crazy smart.” Or, Wertheim notes, we might call someone behaving badly “psycho” or someone doing contradictory things “schizo.”

Like the concern about using disability terms as insults, using mental health terms in disparaging or casual ways is problematic. “It trivializes the struggle of people going through mental health issues and blurs scientific descriptions of real diagnoses,” she says.

From principle to practice
Find less charged (and more accurate) language to describe people behaving in ways you don’t like. For example, instead of “psycho” say “capricious.” Instead of “schizo” say “unpredictable.”

It all comes down to treating people like people and using language that does not take away from their humanity.

We’re all going to make mistakes, but it’s helpful to worry less about getting things “right” because there’s no perfect way. Good intent and making the effort to be thoughtful can go a long way. And give yourself some grace when you do make an error. Mistakes are a step toward growth; it’s the commitment to learning from our errors that helps us strengthen and maintain our relationships over time.

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Hansen Miller witnessed unforgettable things during his years serving as a captain in the U.S. military. After his honorable discharge from active duty in 2012, he discovered that the hardest part about sharing his stories was not so much the stories themselves but the reactions of the people he told them to.

“They’d either assume what I experienced was like whatever they’d seen in the movies, or they’d reflexively say ‘Thanks for your service’ and look away,” Miller recalls. “It was so alienating.”

Discussions around the difficulties veterans face when readjusting to civilian life tend to center on posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD), yet those who return from the trenches may contend with more ineffable challenges.

Psychiatrist Jonathan Shay, MD, PhD, and colleagues coined the term “moral injury” to describe the shame, guilt, and existential despair they observed among veteran patients. Shay contended that being forced to witness or participate in violations of moral decency upended the vets’ sense of right and wrong, eroded trust in their leaders, and left them feeling profoundly disconnected from the society to which they eventually returned.

“Betrayal of ‘what’s right’ is particularly destructive to a sense of continuity of value in ideals, ambitions, things, and activities,” Shay wrote in his 1994 book Achilles in Vietnam: Combat Trauma and the Undoing of Character. “When some major ideals have been betrayed, the trustworthiness of every ideal or activity may be called into question.”

Researchers have since investigated the concept of moral injury more formally. We now know that it is extremely common within the military: A study published in 2018 found that more than 90 percent of veterans suffer from at least one symptom of moral injury, including guilt, shame, or questioning of faith. And researchers have discerned that moral injury is both related to and yet distinct from PTSD.

In addition, moral injury is not confined to the military; it can occur in everyday life.

Existential Questions

Characterized by a range of symptoms that include intrusive images, hypervigilance, mood shifts, and a tendency to avoid reminders of the trauma, PTSD is complex yet categorizable: We know enough about how it manifests to recognize when it’s happening.

Moral injury shares some features of PTSD, such as emotional numbing and depression. Yet it occurs on a more existential level. This, coupled with the fact that it has not been nearly as well-studied as PTSD, makes it harder to nail down.

Moral injury can ensue in the wake of a transgression, such as instigating, witnessing, or participating in violence. Yet it’s not always about a choice one made but the fact that one could not make a choice at all.

“I had no illusions about what I was getting into,” he recalls. “People got killed; that was the job.” He became troubled when he tried to make sense of it afterward.

This was Miller’s experience. In many ways he was less affected by what happened while on duty: “I had no illusions about what I was getting into,” he recalls. “People got killed; that was the job.” He became troubled when he tried to make sense of it afterward.

What had been the point of his service? Did he actually contribute to any meaningful cause? And was the system he’d been fighting to preserve really worth preserving?

“I began to understand that the world is uglier than we want to admit,” he reflects.

Amid these existential questions and fading illusions, Miller began to consider whether moral injury may be more prevalent than it seems.

Moral Injury in Everyday Life

Most books and studies on moral injury describe its impact on active military members and veterans, but these are not the only people who contend with situations that violate their conscience or challenge their ideals.

Consider the teacher forced to fail a student who was overwhelmed by a chaotic home life. Or the social worker required to call child protective services knowing it may lead to family separation. The doctors constrained by insurance loopholes or hospital-bed shortages. The police or paramedics responding to the fourth call in a month from the same address.

For those on the frontlines of our social safety net, every day can bring reminders of its failures. One researcher interviewing K–12 teachers described the participants as navigating “a daily struggle between a desire to feel like you are part of a system that produces good in the world and piercing evidence to the contrary.”

One researcher interviewing K–12 teachers described the participants as navigating “a daily struggle between a desire to feel like you are part of a system that produces good in the world and piercing evidence to the contrary.”

Miller agrees. “When you’re exposed to these kinds of things, it puts cracks in your beliefs about society’s foundations.”

Frontline workers may also struggle with feelings of alienation, aware that they see the world in a way that others don’t. “So many people are never exposed to the horrible, necessary things that go into establishing and maintaining our society,” says Miller.

Upon his return to civilian life, he sometimes found it difficult to be around people who never served, describing the “military divide” as “an unexpected form of being othered.”

Healing From Something Without a Name

Less than five decades have passed since PTSD became an officially recognized diagnosis, yet we’ve made great progress in our understanding of trauma and its impact on mental health and how to effectively treat it.

This is not the case for moral injury. “I’m not sure we’ve even figured out how to talk about it yet,” says Miller.

Accordingly, the first step in recovering from moral injury may be simply recognizing that it exists. As a therapist who works with many individuals in helping professions, I make a point to name and normalize the despair my clients confront.

Often, they feel cynical. “I thought going into medicine meant doing what’s best for patients,” noted one of my doctor clients, “not what’s best for the bottom line.”

Then they often feel guilty for feeling cynical. I normalize that, too, because I know that many people who work in helping professions believe they’re supposed to be optimistic and selfless no matter what. This can lead to a sense of “something must be wrong with me” that only compounds the moral injury.

Understanding and accepting that they’re limited by forces beyond their control can alleviate the shame morally injured individuals carry. So does realizing they’re not alone.

“The essential injuries in combat PTSD are moral and social, and so the central treatment must be moral and social,” Shay wrote when reflecting on the things that helped Vietnam vets heal. “The best treatment restores control to the survivor and actively encourages communalization of the trauma. Healing is done by survivors, not to survivors.”

“Connecting with people who have shared experiences is one of the most important things you can do.”

Miller agrees: “Connecting with people who have shared experiences is one of the most important things you can do.”

Self-expression is another. Writing allowed Miller to process his experiences, reconnect with a lifelong passion, and pose — if not necessarily answer — those existential questions. (Discover six types of journaling practices that can help your mental health at, “How to Use Journaling for Mental Health.”)

He even found a way to weave together self-expression and community. In 2014, Miller cofounded the Moral Injury Project at Syracuse University, a collaboration of students, faculty, researchers, and fellow veterans working to raise awareness and promote healing. Among other endeavors, the organization has partnered with the Syracuse Veterans Writing Group and has hosted several veteran art exhibitions.

While he’s no longer as active in the project, Miller considers it a crucial part of his path to healing — though he’s not sure the word “healing” accurately captures his experience. “I’m not sure you entirely heal from moral injury,” he says. “But you can get to a place where you come to terms with what you now know.”

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