In recent times, like many, I’ve shifted my therapy sessions online, largely due to the unsettling economic climate and the daunting realities of navigating a pandemic. During our conversations, anxiety has taken center stage—mine has escalated to a solid 11 on a scale of 1 to 10. While it was already a challenge before this crisis, the looming threat of job loss and the risk of contracting COVID-19 have only intensified it. However, a recent suggestion from my counselor caught me off guard.
“You have a knack for humor,” he pointed out. I concurred. “But have you ever considered poking fun at your anxiety?” Initially, this idea was unsettling. It felt as though mocking my anxiety implied there was something inherently flawed about me. I have a talent for self-deprecating humor, but when someone else makes light of my struggles, it can feel like a confirmation of my worst fears, amplifying my anxiety and depression. I anticipated lying awake at 4 AM, ruminating over this notion, as is often my fate.
My counselor must have sensed my hesitation because he elaborated. He suggested that since much of my anxiety spikes during the night, I should try to laugh at the irrational thoughts that bubble up, especially those that convince me I’ll never drift off to sleep. The fear of sleeplessness has a way of feeding into itself, creating a vicious cycle of anxiety. For anyone grappling with anxiety, this is a familiar pattern.
As he pointed out, not sleeping isn’t life-threatening, a fact I understand but struggle to grasp in the depths of an anxiety attack. The absurdity of my fears becomes clearer in moments of calm. My internal dialogue often resembles a comedic skit, where I obsessively check the clock, feeling more frantic as bedtime approaches. It’s almost theatrical, like a character in a Mel Brooks film, where a clock becomes the source of terror.
For the past few weeks, I’ve been employing a new tactic: I end each anxious thought with a dramatic “whoooooo, scary…” in a mocking tone, and it never fails to make me chuckle. This approach reminds me of a Boggart from the Harry Potter series—a creature that transforms into whatever you fear most. To defeat a Boggart, you use the Riddikulus charm, turning it into something comical, like a clown-faced spider, which diminishes its power.
Embracing this laughter-at-my-anxiety method feels akin to using my own Riddikulus charm. It’s as if I’ve taken a terrifying beast and found humor in its absurdity. Over the past few nights, I’ve drifted off to sleep with laughter rather than panic, a significant improvement. If you’re struggling similarly, it might be worth trying out this approach; as they say, laughter can be the best remedy—even for anxiety.
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In summary, humor can be a powerful tool in managing anxiety. By shifting my perspective and laughing at my fears, I have found a more peaceful way to cope with the nightly battles that once felt insurmountable.