The Kind of Laughter That Heals

I’ve always laughed easily. Not the polite kind — but real, unfiltered laughter.

The kind that escapes without warning. That rolls up from inside and spills out.

As a kid, I laughed when I was happy, or when I was nervous.

Sometimes it could even made things awkward.

And for a good stretch of my childhood, I even laughed like a goat. (True story.)

But somewhere along the way, that kind of laughter got quieter.

Studies show children laugh over 300 times a day. Adults? Somewhere between 15 and 20.

It’s not because life stops being funny — it’s because we learn to filter ourselves.

To be appropriate. Composed.

We’re taught that laughter should be contained, timed, and rarely disruptive.

And slowly, without meaning to, we laugh less.

Neurologically, laughter releases endorphins — the body’s natural painkillers.

It lowers stress hormones, boosts immunity, even improves heart health.

Just anticipating laughter can reduce cortisol levels.

It’s not just good for you — it’s healing.

We still consume humor — memes, reels, viral clips —

but most of it happens alone.

We laugh silently at our screens.

We send a crying-laughing emoji and move on.

But real laughter — the kind that happens beside someone, in the same air — activates mirror neurons.

It syncs brainwaves. Calms the nervous system.

It’s a biological bonding tool.

And I only recently realized how much it’s been missing from my life.

Over the years, I’ve had a few truly good friends. Some are far, some are timeless. But only two have ever truly laughed with me freely.

More recently, I’ve grown close with someone who laughs like I do.

She laughs loudly. Easily. Often.

And with her, I do too.

We have inside jokes, side comments, and those ridiculous moments that spiral into real, unfiltered joy. Even writing this makes me smile. I can picture a laugh-o-meter going off.

We know laughter reduces anxiety and builds resilience.

It’s not just feel-good fluff — it’s a buffer. A release valve.

And when we laugh together, the noise in my brain quiets.

I feel grounded and light.

And honestly? That kind of friendship feels like medicine.

In a world where everything feels curated — conversations, reactions, even emotions — laughter cuts through the performance.

It brings us back to something softer. Truer.

So if you have someone like that — someone who laughs with you, freely and often — hold onto them.

And if you are that person?

You’re not just funny.

You’re everything to someone.

---

What's stuck with you?

I'd love to hear it — drop me a quick note.