The Art of Laughing at Myself

I’m glad my thoughts aren’t on display. Honestly, I’ve gotten better at controlling my mouth over the years, but my facial expressions are a whole different story. I wear my thoughts on my face like they’re flashing subtitles for everyone to read. Subtlety? Not my strong suit.

Take work, for example. when someone tries to explain something I already know, slowly, like I’m brand new, my lips are saying, “Ohhh, I see what you mean,” while my eyes are rolling so hard they could power a slot machine, silently thinking, “Well thank you, Professor Obvious. Truly groundbreaking stuff.” 

And then there’s my laugh. Oh, my laugh. My daughter once described it as an “asthmatic pig.” I wanted to be offended, but she wasn’t wrong. (Cue the wheeze!) Now, every time I laugh, I picture a snorting barnyard animal, which only makes me laugh harder. The best part? I’ve been told my laugh is infectious. People start laughing right along with me, not even knowing what’s funny. So whether it sounds like a pig or not, at least I’m spreading joy…intentionally or not.

One of my favorite parts of embracing humor is how it shows up in my marriage. I love making my husband laugh, especially with the completely random things that come flying out of my mouth before I even realize it. He’ll look at me wide-eyed, like, “Where in the world did that come from?” and then we both lose it. Belly laughs—the kind that leave your stomach sore and your eyes watering—can diffuse just about anything. Honestly, they’ve probably saved more than one argument.

Sarcasm used to be my superpower. Quick, sharp, and always ready, it helped me feel in control when life felt out of control. My unhealed self still tries to rear her head from time to time. Someone talks down to me, and my brain whispers, “Well aren’t you just a walking TED Talk nobody asked for.”  But now, instead of letting them fly, I laugh at that sassy little diva inside me. She’s still there—but she’s learning that the new me is running the show, and the new me likes to laugh first, roast second (or never, depending on the mood). Sometimes the funniest moments happen when my mouth and my face are clearly out of sync.

Humor has become one of my most powerful tools in healing. It reminds me that life doesn’t always have to be serious, that perfection isn’t the goal, and that laughter can soften even the sharpest edges. I can laugh at my ridiculous subtitles or the little unhealed parts of me that still want to speak before thinking. I can roll my eyes, mutter a sarcastic remark under my breath, and then genuinely giggle at how ridiculous it all is.

That’s what laughter does. It softens life. It reminds me that healing doesn’t always have to feel like carrying a boulder uphill. It can look like me cracking up at my (at times) dark humor, wheezing with my obnoxious laugh while everyone else joins in, or giggling with my husband until neither of us remembers what started it in the first place.

Healing isn’t about erasing the unhealed version of me. It’s about making peace with her, laughing with her, and letting joy take her place. And if she shows up with her sarcastic quips? Well, bless her heart—I’ll probably let her finish, then laugh anyway!

At the end of the day, I’m still a southern woman—and if all else fails, I can always smile sweetly, tilt my head, and say, “Well, bless your heart.” And my face? Oh, it’ll let you know exactly which translation I mean.

Life’s too short not to laugh—especially at yourself.