Musings from a formerly closeted religious non-swearer
Ren Zhang (they/them) // Contributor
Cameron Skorulski (he/him) // Illustrator
Rachel Lu (she/her) // Illustrator
If you’ve ever reflected on the different types of kids growing up, I was the freakishly idealistic kid with a religious aftertaste—always following the rules, no swears to be found, Christian dogma levels of condemnation, questing to save the planet—this was the language of my youth. Humans were innately sinful, crimes marred the earth and sex was the manifestation of evil. Swears were an indicator of sin and I believed that sin was going to get us all in hell.
It shocked me when one of my sister’s friends admitted that my sister would regularly swear in elementary school. In the steeled bastion of my child mind, I unknowingly stood alone in this strict morality that I believed was my sworn duty entrusted upon me by my parents and God.
I reached junior high school (Alberta) and the unbending spine of my worldview started to show inevitable fractures. Depression was real, girls were looking more gorgeous by the day, and the horrible things in the world no longer seemed to be supported by the justification of ‘testing’ the masses for their belief in God. My refusal to use swears persisted and it was well-known among my friend group that when pushed to peak frustration, I would only let out an angry “frick” instead of f*ck or another swear. Adding “freaking” to any of my vocabulary was my way of swearing, essentially achieving the same thing. Not swearing became part of my identity: Ren is talkative, loves drawing, short and never swears. I still convinced myself that I had an air of moral superiority to those who used the major cuss words; I was not so crass and disgusting.
In ninth grade, during volleyball, I let out my first involuntary, “fuck” after missing the ball. I ran to the sidelines, saying I needed a minute. My head, an empty church, rocked with my heartbeat and internal voice. Was this who I was? A sinful monster with no control over themselves? Was I losing my grip?
Other instances would pop in here and there afterwards. Purposely uttering a stilted “fuck” while on a walk, crying my eyes out. Flinching less when others swore around me. Misplacing “freaking” with “fucking.” Despite this, I was still pretty conservative in my usage, just like how I was still in the closet.
The energy I had invested into being what I thought was a godly person would soon be converted into a fierce stubbornness to find a path that felt true and good to me. The dawn of the realizations about my friends and myself being queer, the systemic injustices I had been hidden from, the day my father refuted the fact when I told him he raised me to be critical. It all broke the proverbial camel’s back. I decided I would swear when it felt right, which was still rare. “Frick” was my favourite, but every instance would be with purpose and no fear.
Swearing had been intertwined with my struggle with growing up, but I wasn’t done. In my second-year of university life, I moved in with four fellow jazz majors that split my life into a before and after: the transformation of Ren, the person who never swore—to Ren, the trash mouth. I put the blame on the flutist who I shared a direct room with, but she can wear the lifetime award of converting someone who cussed once every two months to a twink sailor. A friend that I didn’t see until after this change commented on it, exclaiming, “Whoa, you swear now?”
So, why swearing? I think it can be funnier. Calling your annoying prof a “bitchass” or hearing “What the shit?” from the next room. It can be a way to put a particular emphasis on a phrase that few words can, like, ”I really fucking love you,” or, “That was fucking great,” or in the negative way, like, “Get the fuck out of here,” and, “Eat shit.” It doesn’t just apply to someone’s first language. I would always get asked as a preteen how to swear in Chinese. I know of many who jokingly say the only thing they know of the non-English language are the swears. Throughout history, throughout language, swearing remains.
Whatever you believe—from a former non-swearer—do what makes you feel good, then move from there.