Sweary Mums Unite

Alice West - 2 Nov 16

I’ve always been a bit sweary. I noticed it first when I was a teacher – only in the staff room, of course – where I soon became aware of the number of expletives tumbling from my mouth over break and lunch time.

Now I was never really an angry teacher, but I was often tired and frustrated by the relentless merry-go-round that is education; frequently delighted and impressed with the hilarious young people I spent my days with. Dropping the odd F-bomb was part of my ‘blowing off steam’ ritual between lessons, knee-deep in unmarked coursework and undrunk mugs of coffee all over my desk. Sometimes – and this is ironic for an English teacher – I’d be just so blown away by something I’d read, something I’d seen, that proper dictionary words failed me.

My swearing has become quite prolific recently, which has prompted me to examine my behaviour a little. I have to point out first of all that fewer than half of the ‘fucks’ and ‘shits’ that I utter are negatively-charged. I’m just as likely to declare something (or more likely, a little someone) ‘fucking gorgeous’ as I am to deem something a ‘fucking disaster.’ And there have been plenty of them.

Life with a toddler follows a similar, undulating trajectory to my teaching days: heart-bursting pride, relentless exhaustion, episodes of daily frustration and – ultimately – huge, huge satisfaction. Adele summed it up herself this week in her Vanity Fair interview, explaining that, “I love my son more than anything, but on a daily basis, if I have a minute or two when I wish I could do whatever the fuck I wanted, whenever I want. Every single day I feel like that.”

Without wanting to be so trite as to directly reference the Ronan Keating hit single, life really is full of big ups and downs – with or without children in the mix. So it’s no wonder, then, that I find myself effing and blinding my way throughout the day – sometimes under my breath and sometimes (after bedtime) a little more loudly and proudly.

So with the help of Adele and social media, it’s becoming less and less a taboo thing, I find – the phenomenon that is the ‘sweary mum’. I delight in all the jubilant profanity shared by the aptly-named Sweary Mum on Instagram (“fuckyeah empty tube! We don’t have to breathe directly from some sweaty bastard’s pits”) and I hoot with laughter at Hurrah For Gin‘s stick-woman depictions of the complex beast that is modern parenting. I literally cry with laughter at The Unmumsy Mum’s blog and am in awe of her portrayal of motherhood and all its cringey naffness rolled up with all the utter joy and beauty of it all. The Mush App (a sort of Tinder for mums) even lists ‘sweary’ as a label you can pick for your personal profile, alongside  ‘crafts,’ ‘parks’ and ‘toddler groups.’ Fuck yes – we’ve gone mainstream!

With limited avenues for letting one’s hair down now we’re responsible for small people, I ardently encourage a bit of casual sweariness when safely out of children’s earshot. Because sometimes it’s all just too fucking much. Because often, words simply can’t describe how bloody proud – or tired, or content, or miserable, or adamant – you feel. Go on. Give it a fucking go.

Alice West

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