Evolution of my Perspective of Swearing

Given the title, I thought this would be assumed, but I'll put a disclaimer here just in case:  in order to use examples, yes, there will be some bad language below.  You can skip down to the bottom section (the examples framed in -----).

I wouldn't necessarily say that I grew up sheltered, but I definitely was sheltered in some respects.  I did not know what it was like to grow up hungry, impoverished, or caught in a cycle of systemic racism, but I was at least vaguely aware that these situations existed.  Our home was open in different ways to different kinds of needs:  a meal, laundry, a listening ear, etc.  I heard stories of different struggles enough to understand that people are not always in bad situations because of poor choices and that they at the very least were not "bad people" because they happened to be in some kind of need.  However, I would certainly say that I was sheltered to the extent that I did not fully understand the major problems of the world in the same visceral sense and was content to worry about being a middle schooler or otherwise cope with being diagnosed with Crohn's at twelve. 

Naturally, then, as I grew and learned new experiences, there were differences in how I thought about many things.  I met different people.  I listened to different ideas.  I exposed myself to new perspectives.  And my worldview expanded with it.  Where my ideas needed changing, they changed; where my ideas were in line with new evidence, they grew stronger; and several murky grey areas that weren't so clear cut developed further thinking still. 

What I'd like to discuss today is something comparatively minor, but still fun to track its progression:  between some of that sheltering and particularly growing up in the glass house of a preacher's family, I have had several particular mindsets about swearing. In sequential order, they are as follows:   

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"It's just, well, bad."
This was the early phase, where I had to ask what each word meant and accepted that they were words not to be used.  This was certainly still a part of growing up in the sense that I accepted what I was told--still asking questions, but accepting the concept all the same.  I would say that this expanded to the point where even related words were also tainted, where if I knew it was implied by picking a related word it was still bad enough since the intent was there.  Each time I heard them, then, there was that immediate "Oooooooh!" that followed in my head. 

"It shows a lack of intelligence."
At this point, I accepted that other people used bad words, stifling down the urge to point out it was a bad word.  At most, I pulled a face when someone swore profusely around me, but the shock had worn off.  But I still judged them for it.  These people only used these words clearly because they didn't have anything better to say or lacked the vocabulary to adequately explain themselves.  At this point, related words or words that sounded close substituted for any actual swearword.  

"Only when I really need to."
Sometimes when you stub your toe, "fuck" really is the best word to express what you are feeling in that moment.  "Oh, poop," is not the right thing to say when something is flying immediately at your head.  "Phooey," does not capture the sentiment of a can of paint spilled in your car's interior.

I found that when I was experiencing something jarring, painful, or particularly frustrating that it was cathartic to say something stronger.  It's like choosing the correct word when I'm writing something, that "very happy" doesn't carry the same weight as "ecstatic" or "very cold" compared to "freezing" or "very wise" compared to "sagacious."  There are connotations there that emphasize my discontent regarding the particular situation that I want to bring with me.  And even if it is "unsophisticated" to swear, pain and frustration are things that united us all in the human experience, that we can all understand--why try to pretty it up to be more than what it is?  

"...Or when it's funny."
Starting to swear, then, brought me into many situations where no one expected me to swear.  This made a punchline in and of itself into different jokes and situations, where it caught people off-guard in fun kinds of ways.  I'd refer to the guy who cut me off as "some ass-hat."  Someone would apologize for swearing, and I would tell them to "watch their fuckin' mouth."  I was also aware at this point that overusing something would diminish some of the joke and therefor some of the power of the words themselves, so these were still strategic in terms of with whom and when I said them.

Sailor Status
I can fucking say whatever the fuck I want.  I learned not to give a damn--if something was shitty, I called it shitty.  I stopped being afraid of these words.  There is still a time and a place where they are not appropriate, but in the comfort of my own home and those I was most comfortable with, I can say whatever the fuck I want.  And I did.  And there were parts that were empowering.  I was choosing to express myself in strong language because I had strong feelings.  They still brought some of that weight with them, that what I was saying was important to me on some level or I was angry or I was relaxed.  In any case, I was no longer ruled by fear of these words--I understood finally the allure of relying more predominantly on these words.

Frickin' Frack
Now, I still worked at a summer camp or in schools or in church or in an office, so there were many situations where dropping an f-bomb was simply not an option, unless someone was bleeding profusely.  The swearing started to filter out and instead more "creative" swears started happening.  At camp, "What the monkey?" became my "What the hell?/What the fuck?"  My current favorite for an exclamation of exasperation is "Seven shades of hell."  The more shades there are, the worse it is.  So something that is "Four shades of dumb" is not as bad as a circumstance that is seven.  In doing so, I found that not swearing could then be its own comedic value, particularly around those who got used to Sailor Status.  

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So today, I find that I am a healthy mixture of creative swears and letting loose whatever words I need to in moments that need them, particularly when I am tired or especially upset.  I don't look down on people who choose to swear or specifically choose not to.  Some might have opted not to read after the warning at the top of the page; I respect that, too.  For me, my vocabulary opened up to a new range of things and it took some adjusting to find where I was most comfortable.  However, I make the firm distinction not to use any words that are derogatory toward a group of people, words that are intentionally hurtful regardless of how they are used.  

All words have different power and connotation; some of that power we give ourselves, some of that power is agreed upon socially.  I'm not afraid of any words themselves, but recognize that the intent, the order, and the manner that they are spoken will have power.  I can only hope that once that particular sentence has been let out that it was interpreted the way I had intended and be gracious to the other party's feelings on those instances where it was not.  It is so easy today to take a text or a comment and infer something else into it, possibly forgetting that the person on the other end may not know you well enough to guess what your particular inflections were when you said this in your head.  

Weigh your words carefully, when you're present with people and even more so when you are not.  I know a handful of persons that come off as callous jerks on Facebook because they do not consider how they have placed their words.  Whenever I am editing something, I give it a bit of time to "cool" before I come back in with a fresher set of eyes.  I always know what I intended to write after I just finish writing it, but coming back I am more open to acknowledge basic errors and possible places where my wording could be misconstrued--this has also stopped me from pressing send when I had a knee-jerk reaction to response, that I chose not to perpetuate an unproductive conversation (where the other party in question was only interested in being right rather than discussion).  

Whatever words you choose to use, remember to be kind to one another.  This requires apologizing and considering others' feeling seriously even if you have hurt them unintentionally.  Consider the context of other people in what you are saying but not to the point where you are no longer expressing yourself authentically.  It's a balancing act that will only get better with practice.  Express yourself and what you are feeling in a way that best meets your needs and, if applicable, in a form that will best meet your need to be understood.

Perspectives and Baggage

Since I have officially confirmed with my two main doctor contacts at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, MN, and have also confirmed my time off through work, I have switched gears now to planning out the practicalities of travel--this is probably my seventh-ish trip out there.  This week, though, I've found that making an announcement like this had lead to an interesting range of reactions including (but not limited to) the following:

• "Are you getting surgery that week?"
• A long, sad "oooooh."
• "Is it that bad?"
• "Oh, that sounds good."
• "...what does that mean?"

I especially appreciate the earnestness of that last question, a very honest response asking directly how they are supposed to respond rather than trying to guess.   

So here's the thing--I look at this trip as just another round of doctor's appointments, potential tests and the like.  This is the next logical step in my care, where we have exhausted a significant portion of the options here and thus my concern is being escalated to the next level.  All procedural.  

There is a significant difference, however.  See, when I started coming up to Mayos, my father did something simple but very clever:  he asked what I might want to do along the way.  So far, we've gone to the Mall of America a couple of times and we took a Duck ride once at the Wisconsin Dells on our way northwest.  We always get sushi the night before bloodwork because there were specific fasting rules that exclude a lot of everything else.  We get Caribou Coffee after said bloodwork or the first doctor's appointment, whichever the case may be.  We wander down to the Barnes & Nobel that is set up in an old theatre.  We check out the game store or the Scandinavian store while we're killing time between appointments.  We go to see a movie the night before surgery.  There are certain places that we plan to go out to eat, like getting a burger at Newts.  We have made traditions.  

It is a damned inconvenience to drop everything and drive six hours away for a couple of doctors appointments, unsure of what tests they may or may not order until we get there and talk to them, but I'm looking forward to these built traditions.  That small frameshift took the Mayos experience from a chore to something that I'm excited about.  

That's what comes to mind for me when I think about Mayos.  There are vacation elements that I appreciate, shushing down the parts of my brain that try to remind me that I will be poked and prodded in some rather uncomfortable ways or otherwise that I might receive some news I might not want to hear.  

Through the reactions I have met, though, I've been thinking a lot about what kind of weight others bring with them upon thinking about the Mayo Clinic.  

My brother and I had a discussion about it specifically the other day.  To him, Mayos is this wonderful ideal.  We talk about what progress we've made on my case and highlight what parts of tradition we fulfilled that day.  He has never been with us, a sturdy part of the "holding down the fort" force.  There are times when it occurs to him that maybe we should just go back there whenever we're any kind of uncertain, that it is a Mecca of sorts, finished with a glossy veneer. 

I see why he thinks that, how we speak about it and the different places that we like to go to.  But Mayos isn't the place you go to for a cold--it is that fresh vantage point when you're exhausted other options or are officially "weird."  And, yes, I embrace that I am the latter, in a few senses of the word.  That I am going back there isn't great, that there are symptoms that my doctor and I need additional assistance with because they are not responding fully to what we have done to this point.  If one must seek help, though, we are going to a good place to get it.  I would never promise that Mayos always has the solution that you need--I have left disappointed before, a couple years back with some issues that linger--but they are a well-oiled machine, scheduling in appointments with multiple doctors from different disciplines (I'm getting surgical and medical consultation specifically, but a trip could certainly span over more) and tests all in the same week.  You will at least walk out knowing more.

Andy has an entirely different perspective about Mayos.  As of now, he is not joining me on this particular visit.  That is not to say that he has not asked me repeatedly if I was sure.  We've had many, many long talks about it.  I pushed instead for Andy to go to Choir School this week, that this was where he needed to spend that time off (as he runs into similar restrictions that I have).  The last couple months at work have been a struggle, to put it mildly, and I have been thoroughly concerned on the strain it has set on him.  For his spiritual and emotional well-being, Andy needed to be immersed in music, a community that has loved on him since his youth, and thoroughly separated from work--and sooner rather than later.  My father or my brother or possibly both have already volunteered to go up with me, so I would not be going alone in any case.  

And there's another reason:  for Andy, Mayos will always be the place that he nearly lost his wife.  He was with me when the original surgery fell apart, then he had to return home to keep working and make sure that I had a home to come back to and then also to keep our insurance through work.  He drove back, then,  a few days later at dangerous speeds when they thought I might have a pulmonary embolism, on top of all else.  Andy sees very little of my optimism at the moment, this kind of fear residing somewhere far past logic.  I am expecting sitting in a wait room and going through some uncomfortable tests; in Andy's heart of hearts, he wonders whether this will be the time I don't make it home. 

Now, someone might be thinking that it might be a good idea to bring Andy on this less-threatening kind of trip and celebrate in the traditions and new memories to overwrite some of the old.  Sure, exposure therapy can work really well, but that stress on top of not having Choir School Time  for another year on top of waiting longer to take a much needed break from work?   It's not that I don't want him with me, but instead this is a recognition of meeting both of our needs as well as can be expected right now with the restrictions that we have.  I will have people with me for support--and the added benefit of some catch-up time with members of my family.  Andy will be adequately distracted and be able to recover at least a little in places he sorely needs it, knowing at the same time he'd still drop his schedule to go with me if I asked him to.  This is a dreadfully unfortunate situation, but these are certainly the right kinds of arguments to be in with your spouse, ultimately debating the best way to serve the other.  

I can't promise that it's always that way--dishes pile in the sink or someone forgot to finish out a chore the other needed or whatever else--but balancing out my health and Andy's health together has a way of stripping out a lot of unnecessary pieces.  We've lost some elements that we want to get back--most notably practicing music and time with friends--but the focus has had to be on multifaceted front of self-care.  

I don't really know how other people feel about Mayos when I talk about it or when I mention some symptoms so flippantly, because I cannot fully understand the emotional and historical baggage that someone has brought with them, for this situation and for others.  The reading of a poem, a line from a play, a lyric from a song changes based on what the audience brings into it.  A comment that you don't feel is offensive at all suddenly takes on a new significance that the speaker never intended.  Our experiences help us frame how we see and interpret the world. 

I'm not specifically saying that I need you to approach me or even Andy specifically with soft hands regarding Mayos, my health, etc. but instead I would encourage us all to be vocal about those different invisible weights and connotations when we need to be, either asking for clarification from someone else or stating your own concerns when needed.  They're always there, and no one knows about yours until you say something. 

An Update

So, there's been a lot of shuffling happening, but it seems like all of the major pieces are now officially in line:

I cannot go to choir school this year.  I simply do not have enough time off.  Instead, I have to use this time to take a week and head up to the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, MN, the week of July 31st.  My doctor in town has officially recognized that we need more help in my case (which I am grateful that he recognizes this when necessary).  These steps will hopefully result in a plan for me, whether we're altering our treatment plan with medication changes, surgery, or something else.

What this means is that I must sacrifice my self-care time for emotional/spiritual wellbeing for physical self-care time, which is messed up.  

Honestly, I don't know how I feel at this point because I'm intentionally ignoring that side of things.  The only certain part I recognize is regret--I was wholly looking forward to choir school.  This was among many of the choices that I wish I did not have to make for the sake of my health.  Right now, I'm staying busy by arranging components at work, aligning other obligations, planning my packing list, tending to small projects at home, implementing a new workout routine, and otherwise continuing on whatever routine I can find.  

In chemistry, there is a process called titration (or titrimetry).  When trying to find the particular concentration of a certain part of a solution, a reagent is slowly introduced into the solution.  Once the solution has turned a certain color, then how much of that particular chemical per the volume is recorded, informing the experimenter a great deal about the specifics in that solution.  This can be a tedious process, adding in drops at a time to find the precise amount where the substance changed to the correct color.  In high school, we all seemed to stumble onto the give-the-nozzle-one-full-quick-turn method that brought a controlled amount without the agonizing slowness of drops at a time.  I mention this because a similar quick turn of the nozzle, moderate doses at a time, seems to be my current method for dealing with the emotional component.  Lots of small doses over time, allowing a wave to come in, acknowledge it, and let is pass through.  It's not enough that I have a whole picture yet, but I'm finding it is best to process things in doses at the moment.

We're making the right steps.  I hope we will have a plan soon.  And there isn't much else to do in the meanwhile except to carry on.