How Laughter Became Part of My Healing
Healing doesn’t always look like journaling, therapy sessions, or deep conversations.
Sometimes, healing looks like laughing so hard you forget—just for a moment—how heavy everything feels.
Over the past year and a half, laughter became one of my lifelines. And a surprising amount of that laughter came from Bert Kreischer.
There were nights when the world felt quiet in the wrong way. When my thoughts were loud, my heart felt tired, and the weight of everything I was carrying felt overwhelming. On those nights, I’d put on one of his comedy specials—not because I expected it to fix anything, but because I needed relief.
And somehow, it worked.
Not in a magical, erase-your-problems kind of way—but in the very human way laughter gives you permission to breathe again. To loosen your shoulders. To feel something lighter, even if just for an hour.
What surprised me most wasn’t just the humor—it was the energy behind it. The unapologetic joy. The messiness. The reminder that life doesn’t have to be polished or perfect to be meaningful. That it’s okay to be loud, awkward, imperfect, and still worthy of joy.
When you’re in survival mode, laughter can feel distant—or even undeserved. I remember moments where smiling felt wrong, like I was betraying the seriousness of what I was going through. But laughter didn’t erase my pain. It sat beside it. It gave me strength inside the struggle.
There’s something deeply healing about being reminded that joy can coexist with grief. That you can be hurting and still laugh. That you don’t have to be “better” to deserve light moments.
Seeing Bert live recently felt like a full-circle moment for me. Not because he knew my story—but because I did. I knew how many nights his comedy helped me through when things felt unbearably heavy. Being there, laughing in real time, felt like honoring that version of myself who kept going anyway.
Healing isn’t linear. It isn’t tidy. And it doesn’t come from just one place.
For me, it came in unexpected ways—through laughter, positivity, and the reminder that sometimes the most powerful thing you can do is let yourself laugh when everything else feels hard.
And for that, I’ll always be grateful.
