After reading 12 Normal Daily Habits That Secretly Mess Up Your Life, I got to thinking about slide five which basically says that cursing, or cussing as we southern-bred folks like to call it, is empowering. Whether I cuss at someone or breathe a silent curse meant for no one’s ears but my own, a part of me feels better. In my own non-violent way, I am taking a stand and saying that my feelings and my rights matter.
If those four-letter words prevent me from going postal one day and reduce my blood pressure to something a bit lower than boiling, they have served a purpose. I normally save my curse words for special occasions, inevitably when someone is around to hear them who shouldn’t, like my kids or boss, and for that I am sorry, but I usually have no regret for feeling frustrated enough to spout off just for who I spouted off in front of. And no, I have never cursed at my kids or my boss. They just happen to be around during times in my life when someone deserved worse than unkind words, like when stupid drivers endanger the lives of my children or I’ve just gotten off a call with some entitled douche who tried to make me into his personal whipping girl. (Aren’t you proud of me for waiting until I get off a call to curse? I know I am. I kind of like my job and would like to keep it.)
Now that I think about it, a few colorful words are probably the reason I’ve never felt the need to punch someone, and I’ve never been stupid enough to cuss out the wrong person. I have an honorary degree in picking my battles from the school of life, courtesy of a grandfather who had at least one evil bone in his cruel body. So yeah, I agree. Cuss words serve a purpose and they do feeling empowering.