Discovering Humor in the Belly of the Beast

I have smiled and laughed more with my family in just the past 13 months than I have in the past 34 years combined.

I make silly obscene sounds imitating my dad's eccentric ways.

I create and send funny memes of my baby face to my sister when she's mad.

I squeeze my mom tightly when she's grumpy to make her laugh.

I poke fun at my dad for the dishes he pretends to wash.

I troll my brother's terrible dad jokes.

I pretend to blow a referee whistle and throw up flags when my parents start to bicker. 

I put on French music so my dad can hum at the dinner table while we eat.

I have dance parties with my mom in my room.

I text my brother 'I love you' repeatedly knowing how uncomfortable it makes him.

You see, I grew up in a household absent of laughter. Instead, it was filled with lots of tension and criticism. It was like walking on a field of land mines. Take a wrong step either way and the entire house would explode into conflict. If there was any laughter, it was often at the expense of someone's self esteem. I was a small child in a family of angry, traumatized adults, and because of this, I was conditioned to be hyper vigilant of the emotional states swirling around me. I had to be as  good as possible and do my part to maintain any sense of harmony. Laughter and joy felt like limited resources reserved for my childhood friends, the only people I felt safe emotionally. Being a serious little girl was how I survived the emotional neglect and lack of joy. 

Without awareness, I brought this overcompensated seriousness into my adulthood. My former partner struggled with my quietness and the serious energy in our relationship. I questioned if there was something wrong with me.

The truth is, I had very little capacity to experience true joy and laughter. It wasn't that I was defective.

I realized, I dissociated often and couldn’t be with my own feelings, keeping my attention onto others. Neither of us knew how to cultivate an emotionally safe and compassionate container within ourselves or with each other. This made it very difficult to touch into real and sustained lightness and joy.

Living with my parents has helped me look closely and clearly at these dynamics. Through the process of healing, I have rediscovered precious parts of me and my family that are truly playful and light hearted. A dear friend who I met just this past year reflected, "I see you reclaiming your innocent joy." I've learned how to use humor to bring levity and kindness to moments that are hard and sometimes painful. These small moments are disrupting cyclical family patterns and behaviors, showing that I can choose to live and relate to my beloveds in profoundly different ways.