I Used a Swear Word... and Someone Unsubscribed

Some readers challenged my use of profanity in one of our articles last week. Their comments got me thinking about language, intention, judgment, and what it really means to consider each other's needs.

I recently published an article called Maybe Life Is F-ing Simple and used some profanity in the article. I'll be doing the same here, softening it with hyphens. Just a heads-up for readers who prefer not to encounter that kind of language.

The article was about how complicated we make our lives trying to figure everything out, and how sometimes the actual experience of living is much simpler. I used that word because it was genuinely how I felt. There was frustration in it, but also humor and a little relief. Like, damn, maybe I've been making this whole thing so much harder than it needs to be.

It wasn't directed at anyone. I wasn't trying to hurt or insult anybody. It was an expression of something I was feeling.

Then I received some feedback. One reader asked me to refrain from swearing, explaining that she considers it violent communication and was disappointed to see it coming from someone who teaches Nonviolent Communication. Another reader said they were unsubscribing because they didn't want to read profanity.

I noticed some frustration come up in me. I wanted to be understood, and I didn't experience the comments that way. There was a part of me that thought one word had suddenly become more important than the entire message I was trying to share.

And that hurt a little. I think I wanted to know that the message I was trying to share still mattered, even if someone didn't like how I expressed it.

But I also know what it's like to hear something that doesn't sit well with me. To feel uncomfortable and wish someone had expressed themselves differently. So I can understand why these readers reached out.

The more I sat with it, the more I realized there was something here worth exploring. Not just whether swearing is appropriate, but how we respond when someone expresses themselves in a way we wouldn't choose for ourselves.

What Makes a Word Bad?

I've always wondered, who decided these were bad words in the first place?

At some point, certain words became socially unacceptable. We learned not to say them, often long before we understood why, and then passed those same rules along to our kids.

But why is “crap” acceptable in some homes while “sh-t” isn't? What actually makes one word morally worse than the other?

And here's something else I've always found interesting.

Someone can be incredibly frustrated and shout, “Fudge!” or “Fiddlesticks!” instead of “F-k!”

And somehow one expression is acceptable while the other is offensive.

But what actually changed?

The person might be experiencing the same frustration, anger, or intensity. They might even be trying to communicate exactly the same thing, yet we respond differently because of the particular word they chose.

Now, I understand that words carry different associations for different people. Language has history, context, and meaning, and those things matter.

But if we're interested in understanding someone's experience, doesn't it make sense to get curious about what they're expressing rather than immediately judging the word they chose?

Someone can say “fudge” with tremendous hostility, and someone else can say “I f-ing love you” with enormous affection.

The word alone doesn't tell us what's happening between two people.

But What About Nonviolent Communication?

This is where the comments really got me thinking.

Nonviolent Communication, as developed by Marshall Rosenberg, isn't simply about speaking politely or avoiding words that might offend someone.

It's about recognizing feelings and needs, taking responsibility for our own experience, and finding ways to connect without blame, shame, or coercion.

And here's an important distinction. Intention matters, but so does impact.

I can use a swear word without intending to hurt someone, and another person can still feel uncomfortable hearing it. Both things can be true.

I don't want to dismiss that discomfort. These are people who have chosen to spend time reading what we share, and I appreciate that. If something I wrote stimulated disappointment for them, I want to understand why.

And I hope there's room for my experience, too. For me, profanity can be an honest expression of frustration, surprise, affection, or humor.

Maybe this is where communication begins. Instead of debating whether the word itself is wrong, I could ask, “Can you help me understand what comes up for you when you hear that language?”

Maybe someone would tell me, "Growing up, I was taught that swearing was wrong. I remember getting in trouble for using those words, and even now, hearing them makes me uncomfortable."

I can connect with that. I can understand how those experiences might shape someone's relationship with certain words. And I can care about how they feel without needing to agree that the words themselves are wrong.

I think there's something important about that distinction. It's one thing to tell someone how their words affect us. It's another to assume that because those words make us uncomfortable, the other person is doing something wrong.

Many of us learned what was acceptable through judgment, shame, or punishment. And those experiences can stay with us. But we don't necessarily have to keep passing those judgments along.

We can simply share what's happening for us and give someone else a chance to understand.

There may also be a need for choice. Someone might want some say in the language they're exposed to, particularly in a space they come to for reflection and connection.

I can appreciate that. If using hyphens, choosing a different word, or giving readers a heads-up helps, I'm open to considering it. Sometimes the exact word feels important to what I'm expressing. Other times, it doesn't matter much to me.

What matters is that any adjustment comes from a genuine desire to consider someone else's experience, rather than from believing I've done something wrong or trying to prove I'm a good person.

That's what collaboration means to me. Not deciding whose preference is right but being willing to consider what matters to both of us.

When a Request Starts to Feel Like a Demand

One of the distinctions I appreciate in Nonviolent Communication is the difference between a request and a demand.

A request leaves room for the other person to say no, and for us to get curious about what might be preventing them from saying yes. A demand carries an expectation that the other person should comply.

I've been thinking about what happens when someone hears our request, acknowledges it, and still doesn't agree with us.

Sometimes we interpret that disagreement as not being heard, as though if someone really understood our concern, they would naturally see things the way we do and change their behavior.

But understanding someone doesn't necessarily mean agreeing with them.

Someone might believe profanity is unnecessary to express a feeling. And maybe for them, it is. But that doesn't mean they get to decide what's necessary or meaningful for someone else's expression. And I don't get to decide that someone else should feel comfortable hearing it.

I want to care about what matters to you, even when it's different from what matters to me. And I hope there's room for you to care about what matters to me, too.

And maybe that's the part that isn't always easy. We can genuinely hear someone's concern, care about how they feel, and still choose differently. And I hope we can allow each other that freedom without interpreting it as a lack of care or understanding.

Of course, someone may decide my writing isn't for them, and I respect that. We all get to make choices about what we want in our lives.

I just hope we can make those choices with an understanding that having different preferences doesn't have to mean there's something wrong with either of us.

What We're Trying to Teach Our Kids

This is something we've thought a lot about in our family.

I know some parents will disagree with me, but we don't have a rule in our house that our kids aren't allowed to swear.

I don't particularly care whether they say “sh-t” or “crap” or “oh my gosh.”

What I care about is what they're trying to communicate.

Are they expressing frustration? Joking with friends? Sharing excitement? Or are they using their words to humiliate somebody, put someone down, or intentionally cause pain?

Because to me, those are very different things.

Someone can use perfectly acceptable language to shame or belittle another person. And someone can use a word we've labeled unacceptable without any intention of hurting anybody.

So rather than focusing primarily on whether they used the right or wrong word, we try to get curious about what they're expressing and how their words are affecting other people.

We also want our kids to feel comfortable being themselves around us.

I sometimes wonder whether telling children not to swear actually teaches them not to swear, or simply teaches them to hide their swearing from their parents.

And I'd rather know how my kids are expressing themselves than have them feel like they need to censor themselves around me.

That doesn't mean we ignore context.

We talk about how other people have different beliefs and preferences about language. Some teachers, parents, and friends may find certain words offensive. If our kids use those words at school, there may be consequences, because not everyone sees those words the way we do.

That's part of learning to live in a world with other people.

But I don't want them to confuse someone else's discomfort with proof that they're doing something morally wrong.

I want them to learn to ask a more useful question.

What am I trying to communicate, and how is it affecting the person receiving it?

To me, that's a much more meaningful conversation than simply dividing words into acceptable and unacceptable categories.

Can We Make Room for Each Other?

We live in a world where people have very different ideas about what's appropriate, respectful, offensive, or acceptable.

And it's easy to turn those preferences into moral judgments.

I would never say that, so you shouldn't either. That makes me uncomfortable, so it must be wrong.

Or from the other side:

You're too sensitive. You need to lighten up.

Neither response creates much room for connection.

And I think about how easily this happens in relationships, not just around swearing. Someone says something that lands badly, and before we've had a chance to understand what they meant, we've already decided something about them.

Sometimes we're so focused on how someone's words affected us that we forget to wonder what was happening for them when they said them.

That doesn't mean we ignore impact or excuse hurtful behavior. It means we get curious before we decide what someone else's words say about who they are.

I want my kids to know they can be authentic without being careless, and considerate without having to hide who they are.

And I want that for myself, too.

The Part I'm Still Working On

When I first read those comments, I wanted the readers to understand that I wasn't trying to hurt anyone.

I still want that. And I also want to understand what made the language uncomfortable for them.

But I recognize that it isn't always easy to stay curious when something important to us is being questioned.

Sometimes I want people to understand my perspective so much that I find myself hoping they'll agree with it. Maybe that's part of what I'm still learning about Nonviolent Communication: not how to get everyone to see things the same way, but how to remain interested in each other's experiences when we don't.

And I think about how often this happens in our relationships. Someone says something that doesn't sit well with us, and before we know it, we're no longer listening to understand them. We're listening for what's wrong with what they're saying.

I know how easily I can fall into that myself.

Maybe the invitation here isn't to become more careful with every word we use, or to stop caring when someone's words bother us. Maybe it's to notice that moment when our discomfort starts turning into a judgment about the person in front of us.

And to wonder, even for a moment, what we might understand if we got curious instead.

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