Lost in translation: How language shapes our relationships and our psychology
Discover how a linguist and a philosopher's insights about language can transform relationships, why we misread each other and how to communicate more effectively.
As a therapist, I spend my days untangling the messy web of words that trip up our connections and challenge our relationships. Early in my career, I dove into philosophy, never expecting a Swiss linguist and a stuttering Austrian philosopher from the late 1900s to become my secret weapons in the therapy room.
The everyday struggle to be heard
Sarah sits across from me, tears streaming down her face. "My husband just doesn't get it," she says. "When I tell him I'm stressed about work, he immediately starts problem-solving. But I don't want solutions—I want to feel heard."
This plays out in living rooms and therapy sessions worldwide. What's really happening? A clash of "language games," as Wittgenstein called it. Grasping this changed everything about how I help people communicate.
Linguistics and the philosophy of language
Ludwig Wittgenstein was a giant in early 20th-century philosophy who was obsessed with how language shapes meaning. As a child, he spoke an unusually pure form of German and ironically for a language philosopher, he stuttered as a schoolboy. Perhaps it was precisely because words didn't come easily to him that he understood so deeply how they work—and how they fail us.
Wittgenstein's early work suggested that language creates mental "pictures" of reality. When Sarah describes her stressful day, she's painting a vivid picture of her emotional experience. But her husband is viewing that same picture through a completely different lens—one that sees problems requiring solutions rather than emotions needing validation.
This is where communication breaks down. We assume our mental sketches match up perfectly, but they rarely do. It's like two people looking at the same cloud formation—one sees a rabbit, the other sees a dragon. Neither is wrong, but they're certainly not talking about the same thing. I see this in therapy all the time. Couples fight over "connection," but their mental images clash. She means emotional support; he means practical help. Same English, different universes.
Enter Ferdinand de Saussure, often referred to as the "father of modern linguistics," revolutionized linguistic theory. His foundational contributions to the field emphasized language as a system of signs defined by their differences. He helped us understand that language functions through a fundamental distinction between the signifier (the actual word or sound) and the signified (the concept to which it refers in our minds). This relationship isn't solely determined by social convention; it's also shaped by unconscious associations.
When couples fight about "respect," they're using the same signifier—the word itself—but accessing completely different signifieds. His internal concept of respect might be unconsciously tied to his father's stoic approval, while hers might be connected to early experiences of emotional attunement with her mother. They're literally talking about different psychological realities while using the same word.
The language games
Wittgenstein's later breakthrough was recognizing that language isn't just about creating accurate pictures—it's about playing the right game. Language is a tool embedded in activities, each with its own context and rules. This was a radical departure from viewing language as a fixed system.
While Saussure emphasized language as a structured system where meaning emerges through differences and unconscious associations, Wittgenstein focused on language as dynamic social practice. Saussure would analyze how the word "love" differs from "like" within the linguistic system and what unconscious meanings each person associates with these terms. Wittgenstein would ask: How is "love" being used in this specific conversation? What game are we playing?
Sarah's playing the "empathy game": Listen, validate, connect. Her husband's in "fix-it mode": Analyze, solve, act. Neither game is inherently better, but mixing them up creates chaos. It's like trying to play chess with checkers rules—everyone ends up frustrated and confused.
Lost in translation
In therapy, we act as a multi-level interpreter. First, spot the game mismatch and teach signals. We help people recognize when they're playing different language games and teach them how to signal which game they want to play.
But we also work with something deeper—the unconscious psychological concepts that people attach to words. A person might use the signifier "family," but their internal signified includes "obligation and guilt" mixed with unconscious associations from childhood experiences. Another uses the same signifier "success," but their signified carries the psychological weight of "never being enough," often rooted in unconscious early attachment patterns.
These signifieds aren't just personal quirks—they're complex psychological structures that include both conscious meanings and unconscious associations that shape how we interpret every interaction. When we help someone recognize that their signified for "love" unconsciously equals "eventual abandonment," we're working at the level where language meets the psyche.
I often tell couples: "When you're sharing something emotional, try starting with 'I need you to just listen' or 'I could use some advice on this.' Give your partner the game rules upfront."
It sounds simple, but it's a game changer. Suddenly, the husband understands that when Sarah says "I'm stressed," she's not necessarily asking for his project management skills. She's inviting him into the empathy game.
The beauty is that this works on both levels—we're teaching specific contextual skills while also helping clients recognize and potentially restructure their underlying meaning systems.
The socio-cultural nature of language
Wittgenstein's "private language argument" challenged the idea that we have purely internal languages for our experiences. He argued that even our most private feelings—like pain, joy, or anxiety—need shared, communal frameworks to be meaningful. This insight revolutionizes how we understand emotional processing in therapy.
I've noticed that people who lack emotional vocabulary often struggle to process their experiences. They might say "I feel bad" about everything from grief to anxiety to anger. Without the linguistic tools to differentiate these states, they remain trapped in undifferentiated emotional fog.
But here's the deeper insight: these aren't just individual struggles. Our emotional self-understanding is fundamentally social. We need shared cultural categories to even recognize what we're feeling. When I help people expand their feeling vocabulary, I'm not just giving them better descriptive tools—I'm connecting them to a framework that makes self-understanding possible.
Think about cultures that have specific words or grammatical forms for complex psychological and emotional states.
The Portuguese "saudade" captures a bittersweet longing that English speakers might struggle to articulate. Having the word available doesn't just describe the feeling—it creates the social category through which that experience becomes recognizable and workable.
Passive and impersonal forms in Spanish, such as "se cayó el vaso" (the glass fell) instead of "tiré el vaso" (I dropped the glass), do more than shift grammar. They reflect a cultural relationship with agency, responsibility, and social harmony. In many Spanish-speaking contexts, a strong value is placed on conviviality and maintaining smooth interpersonal relationships. Explicit blame can generate conflict or shame, so the language provides a softener; responsibility becomes blurred and diffused. Rather than confronting "who messed up," attention shifts to "what happened." This linguistic habit shapes and reflects patterns of self-construal. Spanish speakers learn to narrate mishaps as accidents, not personal failures. This approach is less about shirking responsibility and more about preventing unnecessary self-blame or social confrontation, but it can also impact one's personal sense of accountability.
This challenges the Western therapeutic emphasis on individual introspection. Our thoughts, emotions, and self-concepts are deeply tied to social interactions and cultural norms. True healing often requires reconnecting with these shared linguistic communities.
Escaping the linguistic trap
Wittgenstein said philosophy's job is to "show the fly the way out of the bottle"—to help us escape the conceptual traps created by misused language. This is remarkably similar to what happens in therapy, and it aligns beautifully with cognitive-behavioral approaches that emphasize examining and reframing thought patterns.
Many psychological problems aren't actually problems with reality—they're problems with language. A client might say "I'm a failure" when they mean "I made a mistake." Another might declare "Nobody loves me" when they mean "I'm feeling lonely right now."
These aren't just semantic quibbles. The language we use shapes our emotional reality. When we help clients recognize these linguistic traps, we're literally helping them think their way out of suffering. This process of clarifying language rather than searching for absolute truths mirrors Wittgenstein's approach to philosophy—it's about untangling conceptual knots, not discovering hidden meanings.
But there's also a power dynamic at play. Wittgenstein's insight that meaning is determined by use reminds us that language can be wielded to shape perceptions. In therapy, we must be conscious of how our own therapeutic language games might influence clients' self-understanding. Are we imposing our frameworks, or are we helping them discover their own?
The philosopher's personal journey
What strikes me most about Wittgenstein's story is how his own psychological journey—marked by spiritual transformations, existential questioning, and periods of isolation—mirrors the therapeutic process itself. His oscillation between rigid logical structures and fluid, context-driven meaning reflects the cognitive dissonance we often see in clients searching for coherence in understanding themselves and their world.
His drive for clarity and authenticity, his rejection of inherited wealth, and his need to align actions with beliefs suggest a personality grappling with the same questions our clients face: How do we live authentically? How do we find meaning? How do we connect with others across the gaps between our private worlds?
This is where the influence of both Wittgenstein and Saussure becomes evident in modern therapeutic approaches. Jacques Lacan, for instance, drew on Saussure's insight that the signified (our psychological concept) is often unconsciously determined, while incorporating Wittgenstein's recognition that meaning shifts through contextual use.
When a client's words change meaning during therapy—when the signifier "anger" reveals a signified of "grief," or "independence" uncovers an unconscious signified of "fear of abandonment"—we're witnessing both the unconscious psychological structures that Saussure identified and the fluid, contextual meaning-making that Wittgenstein described. The same signifier can access different signifieds as the therapeutic relationship creates new contexts for understanding.
The ripple effect
As psychologist Keith Markovich notes, "the way we articulate our experiences defines our reality." This isn't just philosophical speculation—it's therapeutic gold that reflects Wittgenstein's broader insight about language as a framework that shapes how we perceive and understand reality.
From a constructivist perspective, meaning is fluid, socially constructed, and dependent on shared cultural contexts. This has profound implications for therapeutic practice. When couples learn to recognize and respect each other's language games, their relationship satisfaction increases dramatically. When individuals expand their emotional vocabulary within social frameworks, they gain better emotional regulation. When families develop shared ways of talking about difficult topics, they navigate conflicts more effectively.
Playing better games
The next time you find yourself in a communication breakdown, ask yourself: What language game am I playing? What game is the other person playing? Are we even playing the same game?
This framework is particularly powerful for understanding conflict and alienation. When individuals operate within different linguistic frameworks, they may struggle to connect, leading to the kind of persistent misunderstandings that drive people to therapy. Recognizing these different games isn't just about better communication—it's about acknowledging the contextual, socially constructed nature of meaning itself.
Remember, there's no universal language of human experience. We're all just trying to connect across the gaps between our private worlds, using the imperfect but miraculous tool of language. The goal isn't perfect communication—it's recognizing when we're playing different games and learning to play them more skillfully together.
Sometimes, the most therapeutic intervention is helping people recognize that their struggles with meaning, connection, and authenticity are fundamentally human and stem from the limitations of language itself.
After all, relationships aren't about speaking the same language—they're about learning to play each other's language games with love, patience, and a sense of humor.