Recognizing My Laughing Reaction Pattern
3 minute read
I want to share a voice journal reflection about a behavioral pattern that has affected me my whole life. It’s something that feels almost subconscious—a reaction that’s hard to break. To be honest, I don’t know if I can ever completely change it, but acknowledging it feels like an important step toward mitigating its effects. Let me explain.
The other day, we had a bit of a sad situation here on the farm. We have a foster dog, and a while back, he was attacked by another dog. Since then, he’s been showing signs of what people sometimes call “kicked dog syndrome”—a reaction that suggests he’s been hurt before. We were cleaning out the volunteer area where the dogs live, and I tossed a stick over the fence. I was about 10 feet away, not even close to him, but he suddenly freaked out, yelping as if I’d kicked him. It caught me off guard—I didn’t even realize it was because of me until later.
A little while after that, one of the other guys was mopping. He swung the mop up onto an awning to dry it in the sun. Again, he wasn’t anywhere near the dog—he was at least 10 feet away. But the dog reacted the same way, yelping as if he were being hurt.
This is where my pattern comes in: I laughed. It wasn’t a mean-spirited laugh, just an automatic reaction—almost like “Oh buddy, what are you doing?” But as soon as I laughed, I cringed inwardly. I knew that laughter wasn’t the right response. It’s a reaction I’ve had since I was a kid, a coping mechanism for things that are difficult or uncomfortable. When I couldn’t express emotions like sadness or fear growing up, I learned to laugh at things instead. Sometimes, it’s good advice: laughter can help make tough situations more bearable. But in moments like these—where a scared, traumatized dog is involved—it’s definitely not appropriate.
I comforted the dog afterward, of course. I know my heart is in the right place, but it still eats me up to know I have this reaction. I’ve had people—friends, family—get upset with me for laughing at serious or dark moments they’ve shared with me. It’s not that I find those things funny; it’s that my first instinct, conditioned over many years, is to laugh as a way of coping.
At this point in my life, I realize breaking this pattern is going to be incredibly difficult. I would need to face enough dark or challenging situations to consciously choose a different response each time. That’s a tall order, but admitting it is at least a start. Sometimes I laugh at things that are messed up or uncomfortable—not always because they’re funny, but because it’s my way of coping rather than crying, freezing, or becoming visibly upset.
It’s an interesting self-observation, and maybe by being aware of it, I can start to change, even if it’s only little by little.