Let's Talk About "Whelmed"

Language is a word factory that never closes. Words rarely die. At most, they retire. Language lives on creation.

Not THE Creation, mind you — but the imagination inside the word factory. That’s where new words get forged, hammered, and above all used, words that didn’t exist the year before. Good news for the folks at Merriam-Webster and other dictionary makers.

I’m glad when I find new words. And I find them every day, in abundance. In English as much as in German. I appreciate that. As a user of words from the English language, I want — no — I need to know what a term actually means. Otherwise, reaching into the word pit can produce some rather embarrassing moments. One of the stranger words is “whelmed,” or “to whelm.” A word that fits my mood quite well this morning at five o’clock.

The strange thing about “whelm”: it’s almost never used without a prefix. There’s “underwhelmed,” meaning something like disappointed. Anyone accused of being underwhelming has failed to convince, wasn’t the least bit overwhelming. Then there’s the other prefixed version: “overwhelmed.” That one was predictable. And whoever hears that word applied to themselves is likely already more stressed because of it. It means, simply and plainly, that the person in question is swamped — by their work, their life, their finances, their politics.

And just like that, here we are at today’s topic. And it feels somehow “whelmed.” Whelmed means being buried under something. It doesn’t have to be a liquid — it isn’t — but a flood of events starts out as “whelmed” and ends as “overwhelmed.”

And yes, I mean the daily news from the channels of the media — social or antisocial — but that’s not today’s topic. I should have stopped scrolling sooner. I didn’t. I just wanted a rough sense of the state of the world I live in.

Overwhelmed.

The dictionary seems to know exactly why this word fits my mood. It tells me I feel defeated, overpowered, overrun, and crushed. All of that is packed into the word “overwhelmed.” And it sticks in my throat, because my throat is filled to the brim with brutal, unimaginable, and deeply revolting news.

Is this still my world?

Can I still shape my life with any lightness of spirit?

I have doubts.

I am in despair.

With doubt, I can live. Not ignoring the catastrophe — that is the price.

What I cannot and will not make peace with is the word “dull” — the going numb.

I must doubt.

I must despair.

Then I remain a human being among human beings.

Then I remain someone who is part of this.

Then hope stays alive and active.

For today. I am whelmed.