"No Words"

The limits of language in our most emotionally upending moments—and why to write through them

Words are my profession. Day in and day out, I write words, read words, edit words, and consider the impact of words. I work with writers and authors, so I know how much words matter. Words change lives. Words save lives.

In my role as a memoir teacher and editor, it’s not uncommon to come across a line in a student’s or author’s work that reads some variation of: “There are no words to describe how I felt . . . ”

I have never, ever let a line like that fly. I’m a diplomatic, kind editor, so my response is to urge the writers I work with to try. To reach for the words they cannot find, that they don’t feel they have access to, that feel hot to the touch. To dig. To put words on the page, no matter how imperfect. The process of articulating our feelings about something that transpired and why it matters in memoir takes time and patience. It also involves risk. To write what you feel about something, you risk vulnerability in two ways—by sharing how you feel, and by sharing how you articulate the way you feel. In other words, you’re showing people two things—how you feel, and how you write about how you feel. Both things can be scary as shit to do!

This week with the fires in LA, I’ve been struck by the countless images I’ve seen with the caption: “No words.” It makes sense. “No words” is a simple and effective way to convey one’s speechlessness. The inadequacy of language is never more obvious than in the face of upending emotional experiences. There’s a reason for the idiom, A picture is worth a thousand words.

It got me thinking, though, that “no words” is a homing device to our most poignant and powerful moments. “No words” is triggered by states of shock or overwhelm—be it profound sadness or grief, joy or awe. Moments of “no words” lead us to places where perhaps we have the most words, but whatever we have to say feels doomed to fall short. As such, these are moments to be mined.

The overwhelming nature of the tragedy unfolding in LA is showing us the limits of our language, for sure. We are using and seeing words like unbearable, unfathomable, too much, heart-sickening, unreal. People are using metaphors to capture the hugeness of it all—war, warzone, hellscape, hell.

On Thursday, I sat at my computer for over an hour trying to find words to share my own feelings on Facebook. I went through a fire loss in September, but I’m not in LA. I struggled to capture what I wanted to say. Other words—inadequate, trite, dumb, selfish, meh— surfaced in my mind as I wrote, colliding with the meaning I was trying to capture. Another thought surfaced: Who cares? And I almost didn’t post.

The reason I pushed through and did is because I recognize where who cares? comes from. We are simple creatures at the end of the day, riddled with fears and insecurities and daily struggles that are more common than we imagine. If you want to write, pushing through feelings of inadequacy is a practice, and social platforms give us plenty of opportunity for that. Allowing your voice to be part of the chorus of other voices—whether on Substack, on social media, in books, on podcasts—is an act of joining. It's an expression of community and belonging that no one can bestow upon you. It’s just yours to take. And I mean take because no one’s going to beg you to show up or miss you if you don’t.

I don’t believe that everyone who posted “no words” was trying to mine for words they couldn’t find. Not everyone on social media is a writer or trying to be. “No words” is an initial knee-jerk holy-shit-I-can’t-believe-this kind of thing we say or post. But if you are trying to write, and if you’ve felt or posted “no words” this week, take space to try to find some words. The act of writing about how a collective tragedy impacts you is a powerful exercise. You can share or not share. But if you’ve felt inadequate, or like you don’t have a right to contribute to the chorus of voices, check your inner critic. Because you do.

Leo Tolstoy wrote, “Art is the passing of feelings from one human heart to another.” I’ve always loved this quote because it captures what we are trying to do when we reach beyond “no words” with our writing and mine for the feelings we hope to pass to another. The efforting and sharing and showing up sometimes feels insufficient, but in truth, it’s a gift. And it’s only yours to give.