Like many others, I’ve been having virtual sessions with my counselor lately due to the financial uncertainties and the overwhelming experience of living through a pandemic. Unsurprisingly, our conversations often circle back to my anxiety, which has soared to an 11 on a scale of 1-10. It was already challenging before all this, but the fear of job loss and catching COVID has escalated things significantly. Recently, my counselor said something that made me stop and think: “You have a great sense of humor.”
I nodded in agreement.
“But a lot of your humor comes from self-deprecation. Have you ever considered poking fun at your anxiety instead?”
At first, I found the suggestion a bit unsettling. Making fun of my anxiety felt like admitting there was something inherently wrong with me. I’m quite adept at self-mockery, but when someone else points it out, it feels like a confirmation of my worst fears, amplifying my anxiety and depression. As he proposed this new approach, I half-expected to spend my night ruminating over it, as is often the case in my life.
However, he must have seen the skepticism in my eyes, because he elaborated. He explained that since much of my anxiety spikes during the night, I should try to mock the thoughts that whisper to me about never falling asleep. I often spiral into panic, convinced that a lack of sleep will only fuel my anxiety further (and yes, that’s how anxiety operates—imagine a snowball rolling downhill, gaining size and speed, but without the fun and beauty of winter, only dread).
Ultimately, I know not sleeping won’t end my life, but in those moments of nighttime panic, logic takes a backseat. Anyone grappling with anxiety can relate to that sentiment. Yet when I step back and think about it from a rational perspective, it seems absurd. My inner dialogue often tells me to obsessively check the clock, growing more anxious as bedtime draws near. That voice insists that I need to prepare early to unwind, or else I’ll spiral into a panic attack. There are times when I dread looking at clocks after a certain hour because they fill me with anxiety. It’s almost comical, akin to a Mel Brooks film where a neurotic character is horrified by a clock, and I find myself as that character, laughing at the irony.
For the past few weeks, I’ve taken my counselor’s advice to heart by adding a sarcastic “whoooooo, scary…” to the end of every anxious thought that flits through my mind, and it has become a source of amusement. The more I engage in this practice, the more I’m reminded of a Boggart—if you’re not familiar with Harry Potter, a Boggart is a creature that morphs into your greatest fear. For example, if you’re terrified of spiders, a Boggart would take that form. The way to combat a Boggart? With a Riddikulus charm, which transforms it into something humorous, like a spider wearing clown makeup, thereby robbing it of its frightening power.
In many ways, this strategy of laughing at my anxiety has become my own version of the Riddikulus charm. As strange as it may sound, it feels as though I’ve taken this monstrous anxiety and made fun of its absurdities. Over the past few nights, I’ve found myself chuckling as I drift off to sleep, which is far preferable to panicking myself to slumber. So, I plan to continue this practice. If you think this might help you too, it’s worth a shot—after all, laughter really might be the best medicine, even when it comes to anxiety. If you’d like to explore more about this topic, you can check out this blog post.
In summary, my counselor’s advice to laugh at my anxiety has proven to be a surprisingly effective strategy. By embracing humor, I’ve found a way to cope with the fears that often plague me, making the experience more manageable and even enjoyable in a strange way. If you’re struggling with anxiety, consider giving this approach a try; it just might lighten your load. For additional insights on managing anxiety, you can visit this resource or check out these experts for valuable information.