The Meaning Of Literally And How Not To Use It
"Literally" is peppered into sentences with careless abandon, but calm down Word Nerds – the word has morphed and maybe it’s not a hanging offence to use it for the sake of drama.
The primary meaning of literally implies accuracy and exactness, so using it like this is technically a no-no: "I literally died laughing". No, you didn't literally die. You just laughed a lot.
This, on the other hand, is acceptable: "I literally wet myself laughing" and is accurate if you had actually – and literally – wet yourself while laughing.
Let’s dig deeper into when and how to use literally without sounding banal.
The Meaning of Literally
Literal means accurate or true without exaggeration or metaphor. The trouble is, the meaning of literally has become confused with less specific words such as "figuratively" or “virtually” or “in effect”.
Technically, "I literally lost my shit" is the wrong use of literally.
No shit was actually lost, but to say “I figuratively lost my shit” would be weird, and where’s the fun in that? However…when literally is used informally instead of figuratively, it adds a dollop of drama to a sentence.
According to the Merriam-Webster Dictionary, back in the day, Mark Twain, and Charlotte Brontë used it instead of “in effect”. Since then, using literally in place of figuratively has become so commonplace that it is almost acceptable, and you know what? Relax. It’s ok.
That said, my doctor's receptionist wins the prize using literally with mind-blowing effect.
Read the horrifying story here:
The Curios Case of the Receptionist and the Scratchy Ear
As the early evening sun sank into the Kent Swale and a bank holiday weekend sprawled ahead, my friend cracked open the beers. The chilled Friday vibe was shattered when an something flew into my ear. I leapt to my feet, and various people peered in my ear, and one poked a sandy finger into my ear canal to prove that whatever had flown in there had clearly flown out again.
On Tuesday morning, normal life resumed, and I was back in town working from home. My business partner was over, and he wondered why I kept twitching my head. "Oh, something flew into my ear on Friday", I said, "and it must have scratched me because my ear is feeling irritated. It's especially annoying at night and disturbing my sleep".
"Er. Don't you think you should get that checked out?" he said, eyebrows raised.
On reflection, yep, I agreed that might be an idea. We strolled across the road to my local Health Centre in Oxted, Surrey. Uninterested and complete with air quotes, the receptionist told me, "We don't do "things in ears" here. You'll have to go to the hospital."
Literally, the Worst Case Scenario
We drove to the old cottage hospital in Edenbridge, Kent, where they were a heap more helpful. I lay on my side on the couch, and the nurse popped the otoscope into my ear. Reassuringly, he said, "People always think they have something in their ear and they never ha…….". His voice trailed off.
Me: "There's something in there, isn't there?"
Nurse: "Yes."
Me: "Is it alive?"
Nurse: "Yes."
Me: "Under no circumstances are you to tell me what it is until it's out."
The nurse deftly performed a brilliant trick. I stayed stock still as he poured saline into my ear. The creature floated to the surface, and he masterfully plucked it out with tweezers.
The Bad News and the Badder News
Two things then happened simultaneously: I could see an angry spider fighting to free itself from the tweezers. At the same time, the nurse confessed to being arachnophobic. Back arched and grimacing, he held the tweezers at arm's length.
I hopped off the couch and grabbed a grey cardboard sick bowl from the trolley. The nurse dropped the live spider into the bowl, and I tied a polythene food bag around it. I exited the room quickly just to put some distance between the nurse and the spider. I didn't even thank him properly, which I regret to this day.
Back in the waiting room, I couldn't wait to tell the tale of the spider in my ear and show off the live creature to my partner, who made vomiting impressions. I studied it through the polythene bag as we drove home.
When we got home, I photographed the ear spider next to my Lego alter ego – LegoMel – and shared it to social media before popping the spider outside my front door.
As If Things Couldn’t Get Any Worse…
The Ear Spider and LegoMel
Minutes later, my old pal Big Mac dropped me a line to ask if I knew the spider in my ear was a venomous false widow capable of delivering a spiteful bite. Nothing life-threatening, but still as painful as a wasp sting.
What the actual. I had no idea. Clearly.
The nocturnal false widow spider had used my ear as a cosy cave, scuttling in and out at night to hunt for food. At some weird level, I felt privileged that it hadn't bitten me.
Literally, The Mother Of All Doctor’s Receptionist Lines
But then… something hideous occurred to me. I walked back across the road to the Oxted Health Centre and told the entire debacle to a different receptionist. I acknowledged that despite being a medical centre where they don't do "things in ears", I asked if anyone could simply check my ear for spider eggs or bits of the web.
Wide-eyed and open-mouthed, she used literally with emphasis in the mother of all doctor's receptionist lines:
"If that had happened to me, I would literally chop my own head off".
Literally? I had to laugh.
Mercifully, there were no more spiders in my ear, or false widow spider eggs, or strands of web, and weirdly, my fear of spiders had vanished. I cannot fathom why—you'd have thought anyone with a venomous spider in their ear for four days would be freaked out—but I kinda like the eight legged creatures nowadays, and maybe one day, I’ll develop superpowers.
The downside was that Ear Spider took up residence and multiplied outside my front door. I was forever finding false widows creeping into the house. Literally fuming.
I hope you enjoyed this post. I’m a business writer, ghost blogger (shhh, nobody will know it’s not you), author and website designer.
Literally, I’d love to hear from you.
Location: Oxted in Surrey, UK, and London