Humour in supportive conversations is a tricky thing. We don’t want to over do it and risk coming across as trivialising, condescending, sarcastic or just plain missing the mark. Humour is far from universal, and unaligned humour can disrupt engagement and amplify difference. And while self-protection is healthy, humour can be used to avoid and deflect rather than sit with and connect.
But we also don’t want to under do it, and risk burdening already difficult conversations with an unrelenting weight of seriousness. When we avoid humour, we may inadvertently avoid a fundamental part of the other person or communicate a lack of faith in their resilience. And we risk reinforcing that the problem is bad. Really bad. So bad, there is no possibility of lightness or joy to coexist even in the smallest doses. That’s a hard environment to grow in.
Humour can make the unbearable bearable. If we can find humour in a dire situation, it can’t be one hundred percent bad. If we can find a moment of levity, it’s easier to find a moment to catch our breath. Appreciating absurdity can soften our tendency to take it all so personally. And a genuine shared smile or laugh does genuinely good things on a physiological level.
Humour is like any other interpersonal tool. The more we pay attention to it, question it and watch like mad to see how it lands, the more we can use it in a considered way. We can safeguard it with warmth and kindness, and be guided by the kind of humour offered to us while making sure we’re still being authentic to our own.
We can also be ready to back off and apologise when we miss the mark and even find gentle humour in our own fallibility and faux pas. Done well, it’s not just nice – humour offers a way of relating to life’s challenges that leaves a door open to curiosity, acceptance and hope.
And maybe, just maybe, it’s no coincidence that the wisest teachers I’ve had the privilege to learn from have embodied a deep capacity for humour, wry observation and delight.
Helen Mentha 