My Coping Superpower: Finding Humor in the Darkness

There’s Nothing Funny About Illness, Grief, or Loss. Except the Parts That Are.

I’m in Philly FaceTiming with my sister Sue in Florida. She’s at Memory Care packing up our mother’s belongings and looking for an outfit to bury her in. This is no small task, given the devolution of her wardrobe from cute Chico’s ensembles to shapeless pullovers and elastic-waist pants (easier for diaper changes).

“I swear, none of this is hers,” Sue says, holding up a chartreuse sweatshirt with one sleeve missing.

The absurdity of the moment sparks a memory and Sue and I simultaneously shout, “LET’S BURY HER IN THE LEOPARD SHIRT!” before exploding into laughter.

Before you judge—yes, our mom had just died the night before. But years of watching Parkinson’s physically and cognitively destroy her had left us punch-drunk.

On one visit, Sue and I found our mom dressed in a chintzy leopard-print top. We caught eyes and had a silent conversation honed from years of sisterly practice.

“Where’d that come from?” I communicated with furrowed brows.

“Damned if I know,” she answered by raising hers.

The roulette wheel of institutional laundry was one more in a cascade of indignities our mom had suffered.

“Whatever,” Sue said out loud, and we rolled our eyes and smiled.

As Kenny Rogers said, you gotta know when to hold ‘em and when to fold ‘em. Overseeing my mom’s care has taught me to choose my battles. There’s a time to cry and a time to lean into the WTF-ness of it all and embrace the humor.

Survival of the Funniest

I don’t know a single woman who’s reached midlife without caring for a sick or aging family member, managing a personal health crisis, or navigating a traumatic transition such as a death or divorce.

I can personally check off several of those boxes, and if I’ve learned anything, it’s this: Acknowledging funny moments during hard times is a vital act of self-care. It doesn’t mean you’re immature, disrespectful, or in denial. It means you’re resilient.

Natalie Dattilo-Ryan, PhD, (“Dr. Natalie”), a clinical psychologist and instructor of psychology at Harvard Medical School, said the fact that humans come preprogrammed with the ability to laugh tells us it likely serves an important adaptive function for survival.

My mind jumps to the movie Steel Magnolias and its premise that women are naturally better than men at handling life-and-death situations. What I remember most is the women turning to dark humor for strength, and that gut-wrenching funeral scene. You know the one—when M’Lynn (Sally Field) finally loses her sh*t after burying her daughter Shelby (Julia Roberts)?

“I just want to hit somebody ‘till they feel as bad as I do,” she cries.

That’s when Clairee (Olympia Dukakis) grabs her best friend Ouiser (Shirley MacLaine at her crankiest), yells, “Here, hit this!” and offers her up as a punching bag.

It breaks the tension and everyone exhales (audience included), laughing unexpectedly as Ouiser stomps away.

Dr. Natalie shared that laughing can lower blood pressure, release muscle tension, and reduce the brain’s perception of physical and emotional pain. Humor also helps with emotional regulation and cognitive reappraisal—reframing a circumstance to seem more manageable.

This isn’t news. We grew up hearing “laughter is the best medicine,” and countless studies confirm its immune-boosting, cortisol-reducing effects.

But I’m not talking about getting through illness or grief by binge-watching Parks and Recreation or about the ill-timed, involuntary laughter that comes from frayed nerves and sleep deprivation. I’m talking about creating relief from a stressful situation by laughing at the situation.

Knowing how harmful unrelenting stress can be to the body and mind, is it really a stretch to call laughter a tool for survival?

A Bridge to Bonding

My mom’s first signs of dementia were her daily dinnertime phone calls that always began with, “We have a problem.”

Cartoonist Roz Chast first put the term “sundowning” on my radar. Her hilarious graphic memoir about her aging parents, Can’t We Talk About Something More Pleasant? made me feel connected to a larger community, though one I wouldn’t have chosen to join. I texted screenshots to Sue and we cackled in solidarity.

Did I find it funny that my once fiercely independent mom was now anxious and bewildered? Not even a little. It broke my heart. But humor did help defang our frightening new reality. It can’t be that scary if I’m still laughing, right? Privately, of course. I’m not a monster.

Dr. Natalie said as long as you read the room, this type of humor can have significant social benefits.

“When we’re going through some of the most difficult experiences in life, we can feel very alone,” she said.

Breaking taboos by cracking jokes about our messy lives strengthens social bonds and signals safety, cohesion, and trust. This is especially valuable after age 50, when women’s roles with partners, parents, children, siblings, and friends are changing.

Brazen Is Badass—No Permission Required 

As long as humor isn’t a crutch to avoid our emotions, Dr. Natalie said finding a moment of lightness in the midst of a dark experience allows us to stay connected to our humanity. Which I’m all for. We could all stand a little more humanity these days.

But I also think dark humor is ultimately empowering—a double-middle-finger salute to the disease, the ex … the patriarchy.

Think about it. Women are expected to be the gentler sex. We’re taught from a young age that boys will be boys, but girls must conduct themselves with maturity and grace. That we’re born caregivers. Steel magnolias.

And sure, there’s some truth to that. It’s also true that laughing unabashedly with our sisters and girlfriends is an incredibly effective way to get through our worst days.

Laughter may be an involuntary response, but inappropriate humor is a choice. When deployed with intention, it’s an emotional circuit breaker—disrupting our frustration, sadness, and rage so we can finally exhale.

“Laughter through tears is my favorite emotion,” Truvy (Dolly Parton) said in Steel Magnolias.

It may be mine, too.