Whatever: The Word That Wounds

"Whatever” wounds — a verbal slap in jagged prose poetry. A personal, urgent plea.

“Whatever” is a verbal slap, a four-syllable shutdown that guards the heart with barbed wire. It’s the sound of someone giving up — on you, the moment, or both. Say it once, and it stings. Make it a habit, and you’re swinging a wrecking ball through your relationships. Each “whatever” whispers, “You don’t matter,” leaving the receiver bruised, dismissed, and done with trying.

“Whatever” isn’t just careless talk. It’s a coward’s dodge; it’s word armor for those too scared or spent to face a real conversation. However, sometimes it’s just a rude or mean-spirited person being themselves. Maybe it’s hiding hurt, dodging conflict, or just lazy apathy. But the damage is the same: trust cracks, bonds begin to fray, and you’re left wondering why people pull away. Keep slinging “whatever,” and you’ll be the one ghosted, with respect and love slipping through your fingers.

The dreaded “whatever” isn’t always delivered vocally, sometimes it’s seen in the face or body signals. I talk a lot, I know it, and I have been the receiver of the hurtful “whatever” a few times in the past. I ramble — I own it. When I’m hyped about something I’ve written, sometimes friends or even family hit me with those “whatever” signals. I didn’t get my name's “Noisy” addition by chance. I try to police my mouth and writing so I don’t elicit the dreaded “whatever” from folks, but it’s my nature to engage.

For those of us who are haunted by 3 a.m. witching hour ideas, the ones burning to write truths that connect with folks, the dreaded “whatever” is a punch to the stomach. We writers pour our soul into the ink we drip, chasing meaning while much of the world sleeps. Yet, “whatever” spits on our efforts by slamming the door on connections. It’s the opposite of why we write and why we care.

Don’t let “whatever” be your legacy. One word can torch bridges or build them. Choose better, or you’ll be the one left staring at the ashes of friendships and loves you didn’t intend to lose.

—Noisy Wren ’25, still talking, never shrugging.