Words Evolve—and So Does the Meaning of “Warrior”

In my last article entitled Warrior vs. Warfighter: The Battle Within, I began to delve into the differences of each—a thematic distinction introduced in another article The Warrior And The Warfighter: Metaphors For What It Means To Be A Man. The word “warrior” conjures up different images and sentiments for people. I recently read one post where the author believed that using the word warrior somehow diminished the sacrifices of those who served in war; that warrior should not be a shoehorn term for everybody struggling—and conquering—their own fights (internal or external) but instead should only be reserved for the most literal definition of the word: soldiers in battle.

I completely disagree.

Yes, “warrior” historically referred to those who fought and died in combat. But language isn’t static. Words evolve. Metaphor is one of the most powerful tools of human expression. To suggest that only one definition can be “correct” is to deny the fluidity of language and the richness of symbolic thought.

When people call a single parent a “warrior,” for example, they aren’t stealing valor—they’re acknowledging courage under fire of a different kind. What they’re saying is, “this person endures, sacrifices, protects, and persists against overwhelming odds, and continues to fight daily.” That’s exactly what warriors do, irrespective of your role in society. The metaphor isn’t meant to equate the battlefield with parenting or teaching, it’s meant to honor resilience in the face of existential pressure.

If we only allow “warrior” to mean a person in combat, we ignore how cultures throughout history have used the concept symbolically. The samurai, for example, were deeply philosophical about what it meant to walk the warrior path—discipline, moral code, loyalty. Bushidō wasn’t just about dying in battle but about how to live.

Metaphor Expands Honor, Not Diminish It

To insist that “warrior” only applies to soldiers in combat is to gatekeep honor. It tells cancer survivors, abuse victims, and single moms struggling to make a living that unless their pain involved bullets, their battles aren’t worthy of the same reverence.

The power of metaphor is that it connects human experiences across vastly different terrains. War is one of the oldest human struggles but struggle itself is universal. Metaphor allows us to bridge those realities.

The Risk Of Dehumanizing

Ironically, reserving the purity of “warrior” for servicemembers in combat dehumanizes the servicemembers themselves because it frames them only in terms of war and death and not in terms of growth, character, or healing. It places them on a pedestal of suffering instead of recognizing that their warriorhood might continue through fatherhood, leadership, or service after the battlefield.

What about the soldier who comes home and fights through PTSD? Or the vet who mentors youth to keep them out of gangs? Isn’t that also walking a warrior’s path? I think most people would think so.

Letting the Word Breathe Gives It More Power, Not Less

To say “teacher = warrior” is not to say “teaching = war.” It’s to say: this teacher is courageous, disciplined, and unwavering. And in a culture that often devalues such roles, elevating them with strong metaphor matters. It inspires. It motivates. It gives people a language of dignity when society offers them little else.

So instead of clutching to semantic purity, maybe we honor warriors past and present by expanding the values they embody: courage, sacrifice, service, resilience—and recognizing those values wherever they appear.

If someone prefers the narrow definition of “warrior,” that’s their choice. But trying to ban its metaphorical use isn’t about respect—it’s about control. And real warriors, of all people, know that honor isn’t threatened by metaphor. It’s threatened by forgetting what the fight was for in the first place.