Sometimes We Need Curse Words and Jesus Too

There are moments in life when “This is really difficult” simply does not capture the experience.

Sometimes the fit hits the shan.

You know those seasons. The phone call you weren’t expecting. The relationship that suddenly feels complicated. The diagnosis. The kid who is struggling. The financial stress. The marriage that feels harder than it should. The loss you didn’t see coming. Or maybe it’s nothing catastrophic at all—just seventeen smaller things happening at exactly the same time until you find yourself sitting in your car thinking, Are you freaking kidding me right now?

And sometimes, despite being a person of faith, the most authentic response you can muster isn’t a beautifully composed prayer.

Sometimes it’s a curse word. And then maybe a prayer.

I think we need to make a little more room for both.

As a therapist, I spend a lot of time talking about authenticity, emotional regulation, and learning to notice what is actually happening inside of us. And one of the things I’ve become increasingly convinced of is that emotional health isn’t about sanitizing our experience.

It’s about becoming honest enough to acknowledge it.

There can be a subtle pressure in Christian spaces to make difficult emotions sound prettier than they actually are.

I’m just trusting God in this season.

Everything happens for a reason.

God’s got this.

Those statements may reflect something we genuinely believe. I believe God is present. I believe there is hope. I believe faith can anchor us when life feels wildly uncertain.

But sometimes those truths get used too quickly.

Sometimes “God’s got this” becomes a way of skipping over:

I’m scared.

I’m furious.

I’m disappointed.

I’m exhausted.

I don’t understand why this is happening.

And, God, I really don’t like this.

Faith doesn’t require us to pretend. In fact, Scripture gives us a surprisingly large amount of permission to be emotionally honest. The Psalms are full of people asking God where He is, how long suffering will continue, why things are happening, and whether He has forgotten them. Job certainly didn’t wrap his suffering in a neat little inspirational quote. Even Jesus, facing the cross, expressed anguish and asked whether there could be another way.

Biblical faith isn’t emotionless.

It’s relational.

And relationships require honesty.

Maybe that’s why I don’t think God is particularly threatened by our messy prayers.

I don’t think we have to wait until we’ve regulated ourselves, found the right words, corrected our attitude, and wrapped our pain in appropriate Christian language before we come to Him.

Sometimes prayer sounds like: God, I don’t know what to do.

Sometimes it sounds like: I’m really angry.

Sometimes: I’m so tired of this.

And every once in a while, perhaps it’s: Jesus, this is a complete shitshow. Please help me.

There. I said it.

Because sometimes we need curse words and Jesus.

Not because profanity is somehow therapeutic or spiritually profound. And certainly not because it’s the only way to express difficult emotions. But there are moments when being honest about the intensity of our experience matters more than making that experience sound pretty. There is something deeply regulating about being able to name what is true. When we stop fighting our own emotional experience, we can become curious about it.

What does my body need right now?

What am I afraid of?

What am I trying desperately to control?

Where am I hurting?

What do I need from the people who love me?

What do I need from God?

This is where emotional health and faith can beautifully intersect. Regulation isn’t pretending everything is okay.Faith isn’t pretending everything is okay either.

Both can create enough safety for us to acknowledge, This is really hard, and I don’t have to run from what I’m feeling.

We can feel more than one thing at a time. We can be angry and faithful. Grieving and hopeful. Overwhelmed and deeply loved. Frustrated with God and still reaching toward Him. We can trust God and have absolutely no idea what He’s doing. Those things can coexist.

Maybe maturity—emotional or spiritual—isn’t becoming the person who responds to every crisis with perfect composure.

Maybe it’s becoming someone who can remain connected.

Connected to ourselves when our emotions get messy.

Connected to people who can sit beside us without trying to fix everything.

And connected to God when we don’t have polished prayers or tidy answers.

So when the fit hits the shan—and eventually, for all of us, it will—you don’t have to immediately turn it into a life lesson.

You don’t have to find the silver lining.

You don’t have to explain why God allowed it.

You don’t even have to be particularly inspirational.

You can acknowledge that it sucks.

You can cry.

You can laugh at the absurdity.

You can call your therapist.

You can text the friend who won’t be scandalized by your vocabulary.

You can take a walk, regulate your nervous system, and figure out what you actually need.

And you can bring the whole messy thing to Jesus. No cleaned-up version required. Because perhaps faith isn’t about having the right words when life falls apart. Perhaps it’s simply knowing where to take them when it does.

Even the four-letter ones.

💜