Are Swear Words Acceptable???

a sweary contemplation on self-acceptance

Welcome to Shame Sandwich, where Megan feels equal parts shame and glee in sharing hilarious personal essays, thoughts, and dear-diary-esque rants. Sometimes on shame, sometimes shame infused, and other times, nothing to do with shame. Enjoy responsibly.

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hi, hello. if you’ve ever read my shit before, you might have thought to yourself:

“huh, this little lady (← wrong i’m tall) swears a lot”

“i wonder why that is”

“does she do it for attention?”

“was she raised by a Russian Aunt who woke her up every morning by saying ‘cocka-fucking-do, your bitching-breakfast is getting cold!!’?”

“or, perhaps she was raised where the word ‘darn’ was seen as offensive and ‘dang’ was tantamount to teasing the devil and so now she’s revolting?”

“maybe her brain’s socially acceptable swear-o-domiter is broken?”

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😂😂😂😂

Oh, the thoughts that run barefoot through my brain! All day long! Leaving little muddy footprints wherever they trod.

ANYWHO. Guess what?

I’M SELF-CONSCIOUS ABOUT MY SWEARING.

(There, I’ve said it. And yes I’m feeling shame ooze down my brain lobes right now.)

Because I am aware that my threshold for swearing is a lot higher than, well, possibly yours.

You see, for me, saying things like “WHAT THE FUCK, CUNTHOLE, I BET YOUR ASS IS SHRIVELED” is a perfectly proper and casual way to tell off a shitty driver.

***Rest assured, I wouldn’t actually say that to a shitty driver’s face (pause, let’s let that sink in… 😂), because I’m not mean, I’m just, well… feisty! and passionately expressive! and well, yes… very, very sweary!

But to someone else, the fact that those thoughts run amuck through my mind might be tantamount to me graffiti-ing a place of worship. Idk!

Argh. Back up to that all-caps bit above… I do feel self-conscious about it. Because I know it’s not the “conventional” approach.

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Nobody:

Me: FUCK YOUR HAIRY BUM-HOLE PLS JUST MESSAGE ME AND DON’T CALL, CHRIST!!! ← my thoughts to me, sometimes, when co-workers call instead of message. What the hell is wrong with them. Again, to be clear… never would I be so rude to someone just trying to do their job. 😂 These are just the thoughts I think.

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And people judge you for it. I imagine it’s not unlike having a lot of tattoos or a bold sense of style. The further away from the “status quo” that you are, the more people don’t know what to do with you.

Well, that’s the story that I tell myself anyway.

But let’s be honest, there IS some truth to it.

Swearing is one of those things that can make people uncomfortable. We all have a different level of sweary threshold. Hell, even ***I*** would be annoyed by someone who used Fuck every other word as they order their breakfast from Denny’s.

Waiter: What’ll you have?

Person: Fuck let’s see, I’ll have the fucking Grand Fucking Slam Fucking Slugger

Waiter: …will that be all?

Person: Fuck I’ll have extra crispy fucking bacon on fucking top

Waiter: *inwardly contemplates mixing mustard and mayonaise in his Grand Fucking Slam Fucking Slugger*

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To me, swearing is the opposite of a gimmick. It’s just how my thoughts pour out of me half the time. It’s the tidal wave of cleansing emotions. Big thoughts and large emotions swell up in me and then, for example: → “DAMN I BET YOUR BALLS ARE SMALLER THAN A KITTENS!!!” just pour out of me. Just like that. ^That little doozy 🐱🏀 was never a thought in my mind before .03523 seconds ago. These thoughts just… burst out of me. Idk what to tell you. 🤷‍♀️

And I’ll be honest with you, I’ve kept the most voracious zingers largely locked up in Sweary Jail, never to be seen publically until I came to Substack and was like, welp. Here we go.

Not being myself, not expressing myself was TORTUROUS to my soul. And I know you get it. You’re reading this right now because you, too, love self-expression. Whether by reading it or writing it… your soul longs for the cathartic bonding of human experience that expression brings.

AND BITCHES (AND DUDE BITCHES)— so does mine.

And the second I declare my love of self-expression, my INNER SHAME SANDWICH voraciously bursts through the door of my soul ego and says HUNNIIIIII I’M HOOOOOOOOOME.

(fuck that bitch).

Because to be myself… is to swear. And to deny my sweary self is to deny my self-expression and the chance to truly, authentically, be myself.

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FUN FACT: I’m not as sweary in talking as I am in writing. Am I trying to make myself feel better about myself and make you like me more? Yes, I think that is why my ego is trying to do right now. Eff word. Anyways. I’m sweariest when I’m a) driving, b) writing, and c) self-talking to myself. 😂 But if you took me out in public, no, I don’t go spewing f-bombs like a broken faucet. But I do swear much more than your average Joe or Jane, to be clear. Also, I can have a filter. Although recently my ex-MIL child’s grandma told me something disturbing and the first thing that popped out of my mouth before I could stop myself was “JESUS!!”. And yes my child was right there. Lovely, right? 😂 Fun fact over.

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Now, unfortunately for me, to be my FULL BLAST sweary self also makes me all sorts of SQUIRMY.

JESUS. 😂

These are the things my mind tells me:

→ IF YOU SWEAR THEY WILL LEAVE

→ IF YOU SWEAR TOO MUCH THEY WILL REPORT YOU TO THE SWEARY POLICE

→ IF YOU SWEAR A LOT SUBSTACK WILL CENSOR AND BLACKLIST YOU (REAL FEAR)

→ IF YOU SWEAR LIKE A MANIAC PEOPLE WILL THINK YOU’RE NOT INTELLIGENT OR HAVE ANY DEPTH TO YOU BEYOND 4 LETTER WORDS

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Which, in turn, makes me want to go on a sweary rant to release some steam that builds up. 😂

*ahem*

FUCK A DUCK CAN’T A BITCH BE SWEARY AND SMART AND CARING AND KIND AND NOT SEEN AS A LIABILITY THAT MAKES YOU SLIGHTLY UNCOMFORTABLE?!?!

*sigh*

The sigh is because it IS ok if people feel uncomfortable by my sweary nature. Because everyone IS entitled to their opinions. Which I applaud and celebrate.

I just… and I hate to admit this out loud and be all PITTY PARTY sounding *gag*, I’m nervous that I’m going to get shoved into a corner that makes people uncomfortable to engage with my posts or share my shit.

Because, well… the outrageous swearwords and thoughts that pop out of me aren’t exactly what we call grandmother-safe material. 😂

AND THEN I’M ALSO ALL SHAMEY FEELING FOR EVEN SAYING THAT.

How DARE I insinuate that people should share my work?!?!?! ← my imposter syndrome to me.

And again, to be verrrrry clear. Nobody owes me anything. And I actually have had the best humans ever to share my work or recommend me over the last couple of weeks, not to mention the lovely comments of everyone who’s ever commented. Which makes me so humbled and proud and grateful and ecstatic. 🥹🥹🥹

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AND NO, THIS IS NOT BY ANY MEANS A CRY TO SHARE MY WORK! PERIOD. (BUT BY ALL MEANS IF YOU *WANT* TO SHARE IT, PLS DO! LOLZ)

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This is just me, one human to another, being honest about the thoughts playing aggressive pickleball in my mind. *whack, thump, whiz, smack* 🎾

If I was given the choice of being vulnerable or having my skin peeled off one layer at a time, I would be telling the receptionist I’m free 2:45pm on Tuesday for my skin peeling appointment.

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Right now? My fingers are ITCHING to delete the parts above where I’m all whiney and vulnerable. I HATE BEING VULNERABLE!!!! (in case that didn’t come through with the skin-peeling above 😄).

And… I hate not being true to myself even more.

Which is why, despite my ego screaming at me to delete, delete, delete the squirmy vulnerable bits above… I’m keeping them in. Because they’re me.

These thoughts, even the uncomfortable, bumpy, jagged, messy shame sandwich thoughts are all part of the evolution of coming back to me.

I’ve lived most of my 31 years as an exceptionally great people-pleaser and it’s hurt my soul immensely.

And so, through this lil shame sandwich newsletter, I am practicing letting myself be seen. Practicing letting my unfiltered thoughts come out. Practicing letting myself cancel my skin peeling appointment at 2:45pm on a Tuesday in favor of feeling vulnerable. Practicing accepting myself, just as I am right now. Practicing the beauty of re-framing failure into exciting experimentation. Practicing acceptance of letting go of what no longer fits and running towards what my soul knows is right for me.

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Now, my bitchy (← oops not strong enough) cunty ego would loooooove to make me think I’m the only one who struggles with this whole vulnerability thing.

FALSE. Most of us struggle with it. (Although my cunty ego REALLY would like to remind me that *I* struggle with it more).

And so, my fabulous reader whose eyeballs are reading this right now, my hope is that this post inspires you to swear more look at your beautiful soul in the mirror and ask it what you’ve been hiding… and then, take one tiny step towards it, and then another tiny step and keep going until you’re no longer hiding parts of who you are, but you’re fully, joyfully showing up as all of you. Vulnerability and all.

^That’s what I am practicing, and this shame sandwich newsletter is me taking those tiny steps. I might feel like I’ve got the length of the FUCKING (← haha) wall of china to traverse before I get there, but hell if I’m not on my way. <3

Here’s to us expressing exactly who we are, even when the uncomfortable parts suck pig-ass.

-M

p.s. sooooo this newsletter was SUPPOSED to be sent out yesterday, on Friday, but life happened lol. And so, I hope you enjoyed this (STILL FRESH) shame sandwich instead. 😄

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Hi, hello! You just read Shame Sandwich where I, Megan, share some shit with you in the only way I know how: blasphemously.

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