Wordload: The Hidden Weight of Words Shaping Decisions, Connections, and Outcomes

“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.”
Effective on the playground. As adults, we know better.

 “I wish you were more like…”
Fractures.

“I thought you were better than this.”
Hemorrhaging.

 “You’ll never be good enough.”
Scars.

“Why didn’t I…”
Paralysis.

Actions speak louder? No. 
Words do.

And they echo long past the moment.
That’s Wordload.
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KEY TAKEAWAYS

·       Wordload is the accumulated weight of our words, stories, and narratives shaping decisions, behavior, performance, and outcomes.

We might recognize Wordload as the “chip on our shoulder.”

·       Wordload shapes our lives more than we realize.

·       Under pressure, our brains default to the scripts Wordload created.

·       Motivation, mindset, and positive thinking arrive late.

·       Words are the smallest observable and controllable unit of thought.

·       RE| is the upstream intervention.

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What exactly is Wordload?

Growing up, school stopped for one event. The Challenger space shuttle. Classes combined. Televisions were rolled in to watch the first teacher in space. The launch was perfect.

“Go for throttle up.”

And it was over.

We do our best to look great on the outside. We keep showing up.  We look our best. We put our best foot forward.
Inside?

Less put together.

The O-ring that caused the Challenger explosion?
0.012% of the shuttle’s total height.
0.00008% of its total weight.
A tiny piece with deadly consequences.

Hidden by a marvel of engineering. And under the pressure of cold?
It proved deadly.

Words, over time and under pressure, have consequences.
That’s wordload.

Wordload is the accumulated weight of our words, stories, and narratives. It includes:

·       Words we’ve been taught.

·       Words we’ve said.

·       Words we’ve been told.

·       Words we tell ourselves.

·       Words we’ve scrolled.

Internal. Inherited. Environmental.

Like a game of tag, words come at us from every direction. They don’t slow. They accelerate.
People, emails, texts, calls, notifications, news updates, lists, reels.
And don’t forget.
Our inner critic.
It’s no wonder we’re exhausted.

Words become the hidden tax shaping our decisions, behaviors, and performance.
Affecting connections, outcomes, identity.
Workload fills our calendars. Wordload fills our head.

Actions speak louder?
No.
Our words were already deciding.

Wordload is deciding the who, what, when, where, and why in our behaviors.
“That’s going to take forever.”
“I don’t see where this is going?”
“Again?”

Wordload selects whether we elevate ourselves, others, or our purpose.
“I know how to do this.”
“That was really impressive work.”
“If we refine the idea, this works.”

Or escalates tension, mistrust, and brokenness.
“We’ve never done it that way.”
“Did you hear about…”
“It’s my way or the highway.”

At its worst?

Wordload becomes silence.
Creativity stifled.
Healing paused.
Innovation halted.
Growth stunted.

Wordload wrote the script deciding if we sprint, trudge, or stand still.
Words reveal the action.

Wordload intersects our relationships, careers, mental health, and faith.
“Should I speak up?”
“What was I thinking?”
“I said what?”
“What did they mean by that?”
“Am I good enough?”

The arguments with the mirror. The conversations with ourselves at 3:00 am. Silent stares, out the window, at a television, at our phones.
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Brain Fog: A Wordload Consequence

Brain fog.
Courtesy of Wordload

Wordload is the gift that keeps on giving.
At work, it may be silence in the meeting. The hiccup in a presentation. The drop in productivity.
“I got this. It’s all good.”

In our homes and relationships, slammed doors, stomping feet, texts in all caps, and a lack of authenticity.
“We’re good.”

In our mental health, the inner critic screaming, impostor syndrome, loss of identity, hopes and dreams crumbling.
“I’m better than this.”

In our faith, labels, stigma, deconstruction.
“I just need more faith.”

Performance drops. Marriages struggle. We wrestle with our thoughts and faith.

But we aren’t broken.
Our words and stories might be.

Wordload is easy to overlook.
Sometimes, the smallest things are.

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How Wordload Shapes Our Reactions

Like the O-ring,

 words are the smallest observable and controllable  unit of thought.

As pressure and stress rise, our brains choose the “easiest” path.
Our brains take our 20,000-word vocabulary and compress it into the pre-written scripts we built.

With our Wordload.

“They are going to see through me.”
“I always fail at this.”
“Who do they think they are?”

We shift from a game of tag, words coming at us from everywhere,  to tug of war between our “CEO,” the pre-frontal cortex and the  “panic button,” our amygdala.

We even get tagged before a sentence ends with a word or phrase. And because the tug of war started, we may not even hear the end of the sentence.

The direction.
The purpose.
The goal.
The benefit.

Instead of a response, a reaction.
Instead of elevating, an escalation.

Before any action, words set the pace.
Wordload decided the outcome.

and under the pressure of ego, uncertainty, isolation, unfairness, stagnation.
Words break.
Wordload, our scripts and narratives, take over.
Pressure writes fast.

Truth writes slow.
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Why Mindset, Positive Thinking, and Motivation Often Fails

Before truth catches up, we reach for the usual advice.
Positive thinking.
Better mindset.
More motivation.
Improved discipline and habits.

All good.
But they live downstream.

They miss the O-ring.
They show up after the inner critic arrives.

Which raises the question, “How then?”
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The Upstream Solution: RE| 

RE| interrupts upstream.
Not with more words.

Just two letters and words we already use.
An R and E that form a prefix meaning “back” or “again.”
They only work with verbs.
Our action words.

Instead of a patch, RE| creates a pause.
Instead of “more,” RE| creates space.

RE| takes the pen back.

RE|written is a tool, not a fix.
It comes alongside before help arrives and walks alongside in seasons of recovery.
It meets you at 3:00 am.
It takes a seat in the conference room.
 It watches tv with you.

Not in a cringey way.

RE|written allows you to recognize, and RE|tire the old words and narratives still playing.

Wordload begins earlier than we may realize. Even by people we don’t know.

My mom took me grocery shopping every Saturday morning as a child. Next door was an early version of Wal-Mart called TG&Y we stopped in first.
While she looked around, I was allowed to go to the toy section on my own. This was the 1970’s. We were able to do more on our own back then.

As I was looking around, I felt a hand take mine. I looked up and a gentleman was smiling down. He was probably in his 60s or 70s and reminded me of my grandpa.

“Having fun?” he asked.
“Yeah, comic books and toys are my favorite.” I replied.

My hand lifted and disappeared inside the pocket of his trenchcoat. 
I froze.

He began using my hand to rub himself.

Up and down.
Faster.

I wanted to puke.
Face flushed.
Stomach churning.
Thoughts racing.
Voice silenced.

I looked up to see his eyes closed.
He was mumbling.
The smile had disappeared.
I braced my feet and yanked my hand back as hard as I could.
I was free.
I didn’t look back.

When I found mom, she looked twice, and asked me if I was okay.
“Yeah. I’m fine.”

I lost my voice again.

I can’t RE|write that even. Sometimes there are no do-overs. I can RE|tire it though. It’s not helpful. It never was.

I can also RE|script it.
“Why me” became, “I did my best. I got away before it got worse.”

And I RE|connected with me as a little boy. At the age of 54, I was able to tell my younger self,

“You did good, son.”

I can RE|script by making getting away what I remember.
I regain my identity.
By RE|scripting I get to RE|connect with my identity. My 55 year old self can finally tell eight year old me.

“You did good, son.”

Reauthored.
And it felt amazing.

Not more words. Not different words. Not new words.
Same story.
Same outcome.

Wordload. RE|written.

RE|tiring what doesn’t help.  
RE|scripting, the narrative.
RE|connecting with identity.  
RE|authoring the future.

Sticks and stones do hurt. Words though?
They can scar for decades.

My name is G. Scott, and I write about the power…and burden of the words shaping people, organizations, and outcomes. I’ve served over thirty years in the corporate environment scaling operations and sales initiatives and teams regionally and nationally.

I have been blessed with my wonderful wife Alyson, three great kids and my first grand-daughter.

The most important part of my work? You. I hope you share your story!
If this has been tough, please reach out to a trusted friend, pastor, or counselor.
If I brought up anything that caused a struggle—please reach out to 988 the National Crisis Hotline immediately. They are there to listen and help.