Bernard O'Shea: Three practical things I did to stop dropping the F-bomb so often

I took one look at my stand-up recordings, heard myself cursing like a sailor, and thought “Maybe it’s time I learn some actual adjectives”

Bernard O'Shea: Here's to a swear-reduced life onstage, offstage, and everywhere else

For the last year, I have had to watch recordings of my stand-up gigs, primarily to see what shape the show is in and to pluck out clips for the Instagram content monster. I hadn’t stopped to evaluate how much I cursed on stage.

Of course, performing in a live room is an entirely different experience — energy crackles, the audience’s laughter sweeps you up, and sometimes a perfectly placed F-bomb feels like a comedic crescendo.

But as I watched myself from a more detached viewpoint, I started wondering if I’d overdone it. Swearing is like a delicate spice: You can sprinkle it artfully to add just the right kick, but dump in too much and you lose the dish’s authentic flavour.

I’m not saying all comics who swear are overdoing it — far from it.

Some comedians wield curse words like Picasso wielded a paintbrush, creating masterpieces of comedic timing.

But I realised that I might be hitting the expletive button out of habit rather than intention.

This was especially jarring, because, at home, I’m the model dad, telling my children “Absolutely no swearing!” Meanwhile, they can probably hear their dad on the internet calling everything from traffic to the toaster a four-letter phenomenon.

It made me wonder why these words are considered ‘bad’. After all, languages change.

They flourish and evolve, and specific words that were once commonplace can become taboo, while others go the opposite route and lose their sting.

So how did these particular syllables, in English and beyond, get relegated to the ‘naughty corner’ of our vocabulary?

Swear words and taboo language have been around for as long as human beings have had strong emotions to express. 

It’s no stretch to imagine prehistoric folks letting loose a guttural ‘GRRAHH!’ equivalent of what we now interpret as ‘Ouch! You mother–!’ whenever a sabre-toothed tiger took an unwelcome interest in them.

As language evolved, so did the categorisation of certain words as ‘bad’, ‘profane’, or ‘taboo’.

Historically, words become taboo when they reference topics society deems sensitive — religion, sex, bodily functions, and so on. Medieval Europeans, for instance, frequently invoke divine reference when swearing — terms that modern folks might not think twice about, but which back then carried a shocking punch.

Fast forward to Shakespearean England, and you’ll find Elizabethan audiences roaring at creative insults that, while not strictly swear words by today’s measure, certainly aimed to offend.

A well-cited study from Keele University, in Britain, found that swearing can help relieve pain. The experiment famously involved participants submerging their hands in ice-cold water. Those allowed to curse reported feeling less pain, likely due to the rush of endorphins — those joyful little ‘dolphins’ in your bloodstream — triggered by letting out an expletive.

If you’re like me — staring at those stand-up tapes, wincing at how often you’re cursing, or maybe noticing your children adopting your ‘colourful’ vocabulary — here’s a practical guide to taming the swear dragon. No need to launch a full-blown crusade if you’re not ready; consider this more a gentle nudge or a casual experiment.

Identify your motivation

I didn’t want to pepper my everyday conversation with profanity, especially not in front of the children. Having an apparent reason — something beyond a vague sense of ‘should’— made it easier to stay focused. Whenever I caught myself about to curse, I recalled why I was trying to change. Surprisingly, just thinking about not wanting to in front of two children killing each other over the telly helped me rein it in.

Spot the triggers

I noted when I was most prone to swearing — inevitably, this happened during hectic mornings or when the entire world wants something of you precisely simultaneously. Being aware helped me mentally prepare. I’m not perfect, but I certainly curse less. By anticipating potential pressure points (like trying to convince a six-year-old they can’t have a KitKat for breakfast), I was less caught off guard.

Mindful moments

If I felt a strong urge to swear, I paused for just a beat — long enough to choose a different response. That tiny window of self-awareness (and, in my case, it’s small) made a bigger difference than I expected. It shifted me from an automatic ‘curse mode’ to a place where I could decide how to react.

I tested these three approaches at my last gig. I kept my set much cleaner than usual, though I did catch myself stumbling through a few lines where I thought I didn’t need to filter anything. Hopefully, I may drop the occasional f-bomb on stage at the right time, but at least it’s no longer an automatic part of my everyday speech.

A perfectly timed swear can be like a little pressure valve for stress or a comedic flourish. But cutting back means I’m challenging myself to think more creatively — like going from painting with five colours to discovering 64 crayons in the box. If nothing else, I’d rather not be on autopilot, swearing out of habit.

So here’s to a swear-reduced life onstage, offstage, and everywhere else. Will I slip up the next time I drop my phone on my bare foot? Definitely. But that’s part of the ride, isn’t it? F##k it —let’s find out.