I have experienced this in two senses:

My therapist's words about the abuse I endured feed the part of me that needs to know what was done to me was horrible and that I am cared for, safe and validated while sharing it now.

But also, my therapist reads me poetry and children's books in session occasionally-- we've just started A Wrinkle in Time, perhaps 10 minutes a session. I find it nurturing and soothing, feeds me in a different sense than the other words.