😆 Why You Might Want a Funny Therapist (Yes, Seriously)

I remember the first couple of therapists I saw — the ones who looked at me with those flat neutral expressions or (even worse!) that deeply concerned face when I laughed about my f*cked up family, my pain, or the things that happened to me.

Every time, my nervous system shrieked: “Not safe.” It wasn’t until I found a funny therapist who could laugh with me — not dismissively, but in shared recognition — that I finally felt like therapy could be a safe, productive place.

That moment changed everything. It turns out, being able to laugh and cry, to make a joke about the pain without being shut down, was exactly what my system needed to soften and open.

Let’s be honest: therapy can be heavy. We talk about trauma, grief, shame, loneliness, existential dread… you name it. But something incredible happens when we make space for humor in the therapy room — not as a distraction, but as a deep, brilliant truth-teller.

Because here’s the thing: there’s so much truth in humor. Jokes, sarcasm, storytelling, memes, gallows humor — they often say the exact thing that needs to be said, just in a way that our nervous system can actually hear. Humor takes the sharp edge off shame and invites us to look closer without flinching.

And if you’re looking for a therapist with a sense of humor, chances are you already know this. You’re not trying to laugh your problems away — you’re just wise enough to know that healing doesn’t have to be joyless.

Let’s also be real: funny people are often the deepest feelers. The Robin Williams types. The ones who see the absurdity, the pain, and the beauty of being human all at once. They use humor as a form of insight, resilience, and resistance.

But Western therapy? Especially the kind built by Serious White Men™? It’s historically treated humor like it doesn’t belong. As if being funny somehow makes the pain less real or the work less valid. Spoiler alert: that’s nonsense.

Humor is a dialectic. As a therapist, I can laugh with you and hold your pain. I can appreciate the cleverness of your defenses and gently challenge them. We can crack up and cry in the same session — because both are real, both are sacred.

And let’s be clear: in many cultures, humor is a primary coping skill. A way to connect, survive, and reclaim power. So why the hell wouldn’t we honor that in therapy?

In my practice, therapy is allowed to be funny, warm, and real. Humor isn’t a detour — it’s part of the path. It’s how we tell the truth in a way that sticks. It’s how we stay human while doing this very human work.

So yes, we can talk about your fears. We can name your shame. We can cry about what you’ve been through. And we can laugh our asses off while doing it. That’s therapy, too.