When Certain Words Become Landmines 💣

A Love Letter to My Lingering Linguistic Trauma

There are breakups you walk away from with a box of old hoodies, a regret or two, maybe a Spotify playlist you pretend you don’t miss…and then there are the ones that leave you flinching at random words like you’re being hunted by a rogue Scrabble tile.

I wish that was an exaggeration.

Because apparently, at some point in my life, both of the men I loved decided to moonlight as unpaid, unqualified grammar police—and my nervous system has never recovered.

The Vocabulary I Can No Longer Say Without Auditory Flashbacks

There are words normal people use every day. Then there are the words that trigger a tiny Vietnam-style flashback reel behind my eyes.

And honestly, your environment matters. I started in a small town where everyone talked a certain way, then moved to Charlotte where the vocabulary shifted, then married into two different regions with their own quirks. My speech was a mix of everywhere I’d been…but apparently that was grounds for correction.

Ex-Husband Era: The Original Linguistic Tyranny

He had a whole list.

Indescribable

Because “you can’t call something indescribable; that defeats the point.”
Sir, I promise the English language will survive my usage.

Pop

Banned because “pop has too many meanings”:

a sound
a father
a grandfather

This man really sent me into battle with the word pop. For soda. For my entire Midwest birthright.

Lure

I said lerr. He wanted loo-er.
The phonetic tension in that house could’ve powered a small city.

And the classics:

etcetera (he loathed “ex-cetera”)
escape (apparently “ex-cape” was a cardinal sin)

Basically, if it had a syllable, it was wrong.

Dave Era: A Sequel No One Asked For

Dave—my Kansas City, BBQ-lovin’ soon-to-be ex-husband #2—picked up where the first left off but with a weirdly specific twist.

Pop, Again

…but for a different reason.
His dad would pop him on the face, so the word itself hit differently.

I swear this word is cursed in my dating history.

Silverware

“No, it’s flatware.”
Because modern cutlery isn’t actually made of silver.
Okay well it’s also a fork, Dave.

And of course, the same corrections for etcetera and escape. Because why break tradition?

The Aftermath: Why My Soul Cringes at Innocent Words

Now, when anyone—literally anyone—says these out loud, my whole body does a tiny internal convulsion. Like my nervous system is a chihuahua that heard thunder.

It’s not the words. It’s the conditioning. The way constant correction trains you to brace, shrink, swallow your voice a little smaller each time.

Tiny things become big things when they’re repeated enough.

And that’s what makes it trauma: Not the word itself, but the feeling attached.

The moment someone else says it, boom—your brain rolls the old film reel:

The sigh.
The “well actually.”
The performance review on your pronunciation like you’re applying for a job you don’t want.

What This Blog Is Really About

It’s about how easy it is to lose pieces of yourself without realizing it.
How something as innocent as a syllable becomes a landmine when you spend years being corrected instead of heard.

But it’s also about reclaiming things.

Because one day my girls are going to say pop. And indescribable. And silverware. And whatever else their little hearts want.

And I’ll let them.
Because words should be play, not punishment.

And also because this is Michigan…and it will always be pop.

Nicki Bratton