The Filler Words Quietly Weakening Your Writing
Read a paragraph out loud and you'll hear them before you see them: "just," "really," "actually," "very," the little words that add rhythm to speech but add nothing to a sentence sitting still on a page. They're not grammar errors. They're just dead weight, one word at a time, and they add up faster than most writers realize.
Why filler words survive editing
Filler words are sneaky because your brain reads past them the same way it wrote past them — they're so familiar that they don't register as extra. That's exactly why a second pass focused specifically on hunting them down is worth doing separately from a general edit. You're not looking for mistakes. You're looking for words that could vanish with zero loss of meaning.
The usual suspects
"Just." Almost always droppable. "I just wanted to check in" loses nothing by becoming "I wanted to check in." The word is doing emotional softening work in speech, but in writing it usually just reads as a hedge that weakens the sentence around it.
"Really" and "very." Both are intensifiers that promise strength and deliver none. "Very important" is weaker than "critical." "Really fast" is weaker than "immediate" or a specific number. These words tell the reader you wanted a stronger word and didn't reach for one.
"Actually." Useful when correcting a genuine misconception — "actually, the deadline moved" clarifies something. Used habitually, it just adds a beat of throat-clearing before the real sentence starts.
"That" (as an unnecessary connector). "I think that we should move forward" works identically without "that." This one is almost always safe to cut on sight, and cutting it consistently tightens prose noticeably across a long piece.
"In order to." Nearly always shortens cleanly to "to." "In order to finish on time" and "to finish on time" mean exactly the same thing, and the shorter version reads faster.
"Basically" and "essentially." Both typically signal a simplification that's about to happen, but they rarely add information themselves. Cutting them and just stating the simplified point directly is almost always cleaner.
"Kind of" and "sort of." These hedge a claim's precision. Sometimes that hedge is honest and needed. Often it's just verbal habit bleeding into prose where a direct statement would serve better.
The fix isn't always deletion
Cutting a filler word sometimes leaves a gap that wants a stronger replacement, not just an empty space. "Very tired" doesn't just lose "very" — it can become "exhausted." "Really important" can become "critical" or "urgent," depending on context. The exercise isn't just subtraction. It's often trading a hedge-plus-generic-word combination for one precise word.
When filler words are actually fine
None of this means every instance needs to go. Conversational writing — a newsletter, a casual blog post, dialogue — often benefits from a little natural hedging because it mimics how people actually talk, and stripping every soft edge can make prose feel clipped and artificial. The problem is frequency, not existence. One "just" in a paragraph is voice. Five is a habit that's draining the paragraph's energy.
| Filler word | Why it weakens the sentence | Fix |
|---|---|---|
| Just | Adds unnecessary softening/hedging | Delete, or state the point directly |
| Really / very | Intensifies without adding real strength | Replace with a stronger, more specific word |
| Actually | Signals throat-clearing rather than content | Delete unless correcting a real misconception |
| That (as filler connector) | Adds a syllable with no meaning | Delete — the sentence reads fine without it |
| In order to | Adds length without adding clarity | Shorten to "to" |
| Basically / essentially | Signals an oversimplification is coming | Delete and state the simplified point directly |
| Kind of / sort of | Hedges precision, often unintentionally | Delete, or replace with a more exact claim |
| There is / there are (openings) | Buries the real subject later in the sentence | Move the actual subject to the front |
| Somewhat / a bit | Softens a claim into unintended uncertainty | Delete if the underlying claim is actually confident |
Two more that hide in plain sight
"There is / there are" openings. Starting a sentence with "there is" or "there are" often buries the real subject a few words later. "There are three reasons the launch was delayed" is a slower way of saying "three reasons delayed the launch." This construction isn't always wrong — sometimes it's the most natural way to introduce a list — but it's worth checking whether the sentence would be tighter with its actual subject moved to the front.
"Somewhat" and "a bit." These soften a claim in a way that reads as uncertainty even when the writer is actually confident. "The results were somewhat disappointing" hedges in a way that "the results were disappointing" doesn't, and if the writer genuinely believes the results were disappointing, the hedge is undercutting a claim that didn't need softening in the first place.
Filler words in different types of writing
Filler-word tolerance isn't the same across every kind of writing, and treating it as one universal rule misses that. In persuasive or argumentative writing — an opinion piece, a pitch, a call to action — filler words are especially costly because they dilute conviction at exactly the moments where conviction matters most. "This is kind of a big deal" undercuts its own claim in a way that a persuasive piece can't afford.
In narrative or conversational writing, a small amount of hedging can read as authentic voice rather than weakness, because real speech includes hedges and a total absence of them can feel stilted. The judgment call is context-dependent: ask what the sentence is trying to do. If it's trying to persuade or assert, cut the hedge. If it's trying to sound like a person talking, a little hedging in moderation can stay.
A practical editing pass
Search your draft for each of these words specifically — most word processors and editors support a simple find function — and evaluate every hit individually rather than deleting on autopilot. Ask whether the sentence loses anything if the word disappears. Most of the time it won't. Occasionally it will, and that's fine; the point of this exercise isn't zero tolerance, it's conscious choice instead of habitual filler.
Doing this pass on a full draft usually tightens the word count by a meaningful percentage without cutting a single idea — it's one of the highest-value, lowest-risk edits available, because you're removing words the reader's brain was already skipping past anyway.
If you want a faster way to spot these patterns across a longer piece, Grammachine's readability checker flags common filler-word density alongside sentence-length issues, which is often quicker than a manual word-by-word scan.
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Frequently asked questions
Are filler words always wrong to use?
No. Used occasionally and deliberately, some of these words add natural rhythm or hedge appropriately. The problem is when they appear out of habit rather than choice, diluting sentence after sentence.
How do I find filler words in my own writing?
Read your draft aloud, or run it through a style checker that flags common filler patterns. Habitual filler words are hard to spot by eye because your brain skips over them the same way it did while writing.
Will cutting filler words make my writing sound robotic?
Not if you cut selectively. The goal is removing words that add nothing, not stripping every soft or conversational touch from your voice.
Why do filler words creep into writing in the first place?
They mirror how we speak — verbal hedging and pause-filling translate onto the page as habitual qualifiers, even though writing doesn't need the same real-time cushioning that speech does.
Is 'very' really a problem word?
On its own, occasionally, no. But it's one of the most overused intensifiers in casual writing, and it almost always signals that a stronger, more specific word choice was available.