If someone said they were 100 pounds overweight and shrugged it off with, “That’s just how I am,” we’d recognize the deflection. You weren’t born like that. You became that. And in the same way, foul language doesn’t just spill out of your mouth—it comes from the patterns in your mind.
That’s the thing one doesn’t wants to admit: obscenities are the symptom of something deeper. Not freedom. Not honesty. Not even passion. Weakness.
I’m not saying passionate people can’t get heated, but there’s a difference between fire and combustion. One builds warmth. The other burns bridges.
Your words, believe it or not, are a mirror of your thinking. Are you reactive or are you proactive? Do you speak to release tension or to communicate meaning?
Make it a discipline to pause before responding, and breathe—deeply, intentionally, with your hands pressed together like you’re about to pray or push away a storm. Let the anger rise, and then give it somewhere to go that isn’t another person’s heart. Because once the F-word leaves your lips in a relationship, a silent crack forms, and over time, that fracture grows.
We love to romanticize “realness.” But let’s stop mistaking volatility for strength. Real strength isn’t in volume. It’s in self-regulation. In the pause. In choosing to breathe instead of burst.
I’m not here to be the language police. I’m here because I care about what we become when we stop questioning what we tolerate—from others and ourselves.
Cursing doesn’t just stain the air. It stains your soul. It plants seeds of aggression, of carelessness, of nihilism. If you’re not careful, you’ll start to believe the lie that your words have no weight.
But they do. Every syllable is a spell. Are you casting chaos or calm?
If you want to feel powerful, don’t shout. Don’t perform rage for an audience. Stand still. Breathe. Speak with precision. Speak with respect. Not just for others, but for yourself.
Your mouth is not a weapon. It’s a compass. Use it to point somewhere higher.
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