Humor and Addiction Recovery

Addiction is a serious illness, no doubt about it. It’s the number one physical and mental health problem, and it’s getting worse, not better. There seems to be a correlation between an advancing society and ways to get high or otherwise distracted. Fortunately, it doesn’t have to be that way. Staying sober isn’t as hard as some people make it. Everyone who achieves sobriety has been willing to be teachable.  But in addition to getting the right kind of help, there’s another thing that every sober person needs — the ability to laugh.

A sober life should be a happy life. Many elements produce a joyous recovery — gratitude, spirituality, giving back — but one of the most important (and rarely discussed) elements is humor. Laughing is the best medicine for the mind and the brain.

I remember sitting in some of my first recovery meetings and thinking people were laughing at the dumbest things. One guy was telling a story about being in Africa and terrified that he saw a snake in his shower. Turned out it was just a rope, a punchline everyone thought was hysterical. I thought it was the dumbest thing I’d ever heard. But hmmm, why do I remember it after all these years? And his point that most fears are imaginary? Could I have gotten that message so easily without the stupid story?

Then there were those laughing uncontrollably when someone would be talking about crashing their cars, not remembering getting married, or waking up on a plane to — where? What’s so funny about such tragic events? Geeze, aren’t we supposed to be embarrassed about such behaviors?

What about the jerk that saunters in late dressed like a pirate and thinks he’s Johnny Depp. Oh, wait a minute, is he? Or the guy that runs up and hits his sponsor over the head with his umbrella and his sponsor turns around and says calmly, “That’s not a good idea, you could get hurt behaving like that.” Understated elegance if you get my drift.

One guy’s idea of making amends was to tell his former employer about every single shirt he stole (about 50, the blue with white stripes, the blue with green stripes, the red, the black with white collar…). Then his sponsor told him he’d already wasted enough time and money and just give the tally and pay up. Ha, ha, ha.
I didn’t see anything humorous about the things that made people laugh — multiple marriages, jail sentences, wrecked cars, crazy Pulp Fiction escapades. Besides, there was nothing in the literature about laughing. This is supposed to be a serious program and I took it that way.

It wasn’t very funny that I drank after 23 years of my serious program. When I came back, I lightened up a little and my judgments had lifted. I realized I could be a part of humanity or a loser. I knew I’d joined when people started laughing at my shares — like some of the brilliant solutions I had to life’s problems while under the influence of alcohol. Such as getting married at the age of sixteen to get away from my dysfunctional family and start my own. Or, other mental disconnects like drinking my way through obtaining psychology degrees, wondering why I had mood swings, or why I couldn’t seem to manifest the life I wanted.

I even got involved and went to business meetings. At my first one, I made a crack about the meetings getting better because it lasted only 20 minutes instead of four hours like the last one, I’d attended 25 years prior. Everyone laughed but one fellow in particular had a twinkle in his eye as he related to my share. He had a good sense of humor. When he asked me to marry him six months later, I said yes. We click in the humor department though he recently told me mine is “irreverent.” If you were me, you’d understand why.

Laughter is the world’s best medicine. It turns self-inflicted tragedy into comedy. When we can laugh at ourselves, we’ve reached a balance of responsibility for our actions and forgiveness as well. We’re out of the mud and into the freedom of light.

Addiction is no laughing matter. It’s tragic, sad, and demoralizing to everyone it touches. But the greatest antidote to this disease is humor. I’m telling the disease, “You didn’t get me, and I refuse to wallow in my mistakes. I’m going to turn this mess into a miracle instead.” And then you shine a flashlight into the pits of hell and release the particles of light that ride the wings of humor.

Humor is one of recovery’s greatest gifts. Sometimes it’s the only thing that can save you. Don’t be afraid to laugh.

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