We now have a clearer understanding of how language does more than “express” experience—it can organise it. In everyday interaction, word choice shapes what counts as real, reasonable, and worth responding to. This matters for mental health because psychological safety is not built only through intentions; it is built through repeated micro-moves in conversation: what is mirrored, what is dismissed, what is reframed, and who gets to be the authority on someone’s inner state.
“Gaslighting” is often used as a catch-all term for disagreement, but in its stricter sense it refers to a patterned communicative strategy that undermines a person’s trust in their own perception, memory, or emotional interpretation. Over time, this kind of interaction can contribute to distress, confusion, self-doubt, and relational insecurity—especially when it is persistent, asymmetric (one person positioned as the “reliable” knower), and socially reinforced. By contrast, respectful communication tends to preserve a person’s epistemic standing (their right to know what they feel and mean), even when boundaries need to be set or behaviour must be addressed.
The table below contrasts common phrases that function as invalidation or reality-undermining moves with alternatives that preserve accountability while staying relationally safe. The goal is to make visible the underlying logic: language can either contract a person’s inner world (“that isn’t real / that doesn’t make sense”) or create conditions where experience can be examined without being erased.
| Gaslighting | Respectful phrasing |
| “You’re being dramatic, this isn’t a big issue.” | “I understand this is important to you. I want to listen to your perspective.” |
| “You’re just being too sensitive.” | “I can see that this affects you deeply, and I want to understand how you’re feeling.” |
| “That’s not what happened. You’re imagining things.” | “I think we may have different perspectives on this. Let’s take a moment to discuss what happened so I can better understand where you’re coming from.” |
| “You’re remembering it wrong.” | “Let’s go over the details together and see if we have different perspectives.” |
| “You’re too emotional to think clearly right now.” | “I see that you’re feeling overwhelmed. Let’s take a step back and revisit this when you feel ready.” |
| “You always make things up in your head.” | “I see that you feel strongly about this. Let’s explore why it’s important to you.” |
| “I never said that. You’re just too emotional.” | “I see that this conversation upset you. I can understand how you might have interpreted what I said that way. Let’s take a moment to clarify what I meant.” |
| “Why are you making this a bigger issue than it is?” | “I see that this situation means a lot to you. Let’s find a solution together.” |
Words don’t merely carry meaning; they shape the epistemic climate of a relationship—what can be said without punishment, what will be met with curiosity, and what will be treated as noise. When language is used to dismiss, minimise, or redefine someone’s experience, it doesn’t only hurt in the moment; it teaches the nervous system a rule: my inner data is not safe here. Over time, that rule can quietly reorganise behaviour—people speak less, doubt themselves more, and start outsourcing their perception to the loudest voice in the room.
Respectful communication is not soft or permissive. It can hold boundaries and disagreement while still granting the other person basic interpretive rights: the right to name what they feel, to describe what they remember, to be taken seriously without needing perfect proof. Often, the shift is small at the level of vocabulary—moving from verdicts (“you’re overreacting”) to inquiries (“can you tell me what this brought up for you?”), from mind-reading (“you did this to punish me”) to accountability (“when that happened, I felt X; can we talk about it?”).
If there’s an ethical centre to this, it’s simple: language can either reduce a person to a problem to be managed, or treat them as a subject with an inner life. And relationships, like ecosystems, tend to become whatever their micro-interactions repeatedly reward—trust and clarity, or self-erasure and confusion.
Diana Marin Digital 