How I learned that swearing can be good for the soul

When I still had the use of my hands, I used to load up my paintbrush and hurl a glob of paint against my studio wall, as a way of releasing frustrations. I didn’t ask permission. I just did it.

When I lost the use of my hands — not to mention the rest of my body — because of the progression of multiple sclerosis, even that release was gone. Then one day, after I’d gone to work out at a rehabilitation center for people with spinal cord injuries, and was sitting and waiting for my caregiver to get the car, I stumbled upon another welcome release. One I could use even in my quadriplegic body: swearing.

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