Evolution of Society’s Emotional Manipulation

When Edward Bulwer-Lytton penned the phrase, “The pen is mightier than the sword,” his intention was to incite and inspire. He was urging people to recognize that through words—through communication—we can achieve things that outlast anything accomplished by violence.

It’s a beautiful concept.

But I believe we have also enabled the almighty word to become something far more sinister.

Before we go too deep into that, let me say this clearly: words used for good carry just as much—if not more—power than words used to tear someone down.

That being said, let me tell you a story.

When I was young, my grandfather was diagnosed with a very aggressive form of cancer. Like anyone who has experienced that battle, he had good days and bad days. But for the most part, he took it in stride and kept pushing. Maybe it was his mindset. Maybe it was finally living out his ideal retirement—aside from the cancer—and fishing whenever he wanted. Whatever the reason, he fought all the way up to his final doctor’s appointment.

On that day, he walked into the office for his checkup—but he did not walk back out.

To this day, I wonder if that doctor ever realized how much weight his words carried. Something as simple as, “Well, I’m not sure if I’ll see you again or not,” was enough to take the wind out of someone’s sails while they were fighting for their life.

I’m here to tell you that a phrase that simple can sever whatever fight someone has left.

Choose your words wisely. Choose them with intention.

You might be wondering why I went so dark so quickly. But if we’re going to explore the power of words, we have to explore both sides—the light and the shadow. Words can heal. Words can destroy. And both can be used to manipulate how we view our world.

You’ve probably heard stories of people who were ready to end their lives, only to have someone step in with the exact words they needed in their darkest hour. The story I’m about to share isn’t that extreme, but for me, it was a turning point.

For most of my life, I felt like I didn’t quite measure up. I don’t have a tragic backstory. I come from a loving family. I’ve been blessed in more ways than I deserve. But as I’m sure you can relate, our own minds can be ruthless.

My dad once said, “You are your own worst critic.” And damn if he wasn’t right.

My siblings have always been role models to me. Still are. But for whatever reason, I felt like I could never measure up. No matter what I achieved, it was never enough. I was always a day late and a dollar short.

That cycle followed me into adulthood and so my journey began to figure out who I really was and what I had to offer the world. Then one day, with work stress, health issues, and that constant feeling of not being enough weighing on me, my best friend—who is also my wife—wrapped me in a hug and said the most powerful words I have ever heard:

“I am proud of you. And it’s okay for you to be proud of yourself too.”

To you reading this, that might sound simple. Maybe even obvious. But where I was mentally, nothing else could have broken through the noise like that did.

Even now, when I think about it, I feel it. The emotion. The shift.

I like to think it wasn’t just relief from anguish—but the beginning of a better perspective.

Perspective is something I talk about often. It’s something I’ve grown to appreciate as I’ve gotten older—how it shifts from childhood to adulthood, how it changes depending on where we are in our journey.

I also pay attention to synchronicities.

A few days ago, I was debating what my next post would be about and decided on emotions and the external manipulation of them. The very next day, a friend and I were discussing a situation where they felt their emotions were being manipulated. As we unpacked it, patterns began to surface.

Have you ever had someone give you negative feedback about something minor? Something that makes you pause and think, “Why does that even matter?” Often, it doesn’t.

But here’s where it gets tricky.

The person planting that seed lets you sit with it. Maybe for a few hours. Maybe a day. Then, the next interaction is completely different. This time, they build you up. Compliment you. Affirm you.

If you’re paying attention, it starts to feel connected.

Not because it’s obvious—but because intention matters.

For me this is the darker side of Bulwer-Lytton’s famous phrase. As a society we’ve advanced intellectually enough to understand that if you can influence someone’s emotions, you can influence their thoughts. And if you can influence their thoughts, you can influence their reactions. And sometimes, that influence serves the manipulator.

We live in a time of constant connection—social media, instant feedback, endless validation loops. We chase the thrill of affirmation. The dopamine hit. The “like.”

So when someone hits us with criticism and then follows it with praise, it feels powerful. The positive reinforcement overshadows the negative. We forget the small thing that upset us and focus instead on the rush of approval. Over time, someone skilled at this can influence your thought process. Your reactions. Even your self-worth.

I know that because I’ve lived it.

But this isn’t a hopeless message. I’m not saying life is miserable or that you can’t trust anyone.

What I am saying is this: keep your eyes open. Keep your ears open. Keep your heart open.

Life is beautiful. Sharing it is a gift we often take for granted.

Yes, some people will try to manipulate situations to benefit themselves. That’s human nature. But you are equipped to recognize intention—you just have to be willing to see it.

Don’t chase instant gratification.

Chase the kind that comes from working hard. From being a good person. From knowing your worth without needing someone else to assign it.

Because once you stop searching for the “atta boy” and start recognizing what you already bring to the world, you take the power back from anyone who tries to manipulate it.

It’s okay to feel.

Your emotions are what make you human. So feel deeply, love fully, and never let the music die. It’s the sound of life itself.