Okay, let’s get real – who else here has cried in a Whole Foods parking lot while stress-eating kale chips? 🙋♀️ No? Just me? Cool. Anyway, last Tuesday I accidentally discovered my new antidepressant… and it’s not from a pharmacy aisle.
It started when my therapist (bless her) casually mentioned that 15 minutes of belly laughter burns 40 calories. My inner basic white girl immediately Googled “laughter spin classes” – but what I found was way juicier. A study from a university in California (the one with palm trees and PhDs in happiness, probably) found that intentional laughter reduces cortisol levels by 28% – same as a medium-intensity workout.
Wait – 28%? That’s better than my CBD gummies!
So I became a comedy lab rat. For three weeks, I:
– Replaced morning news with improv podcasts 🎧
– Hosted “Trauma & Tiramisu” nights with my girls (we watch cringe comedy while eating dessert)
– Laughed at nothing for 5 minutes daily (yes, I looked insane – but my Apple Watch said I was “crushing cardio”)
The weirdest part? Science says fake laughter works almost as well as real giggles. Your brain can’t tell the difference! I tested this by fake-laughing through traffic jams. Verdict: 10/10 would recommend – other drivers think you’re unhinged but hey, lower blood pressure!
Here’s the tea ☕: Laughter literally reshapes your stress chemistry. It floods your system with dopamine (the “I just bought new Anthropologie curtains” hormone) and endorphins (nature’s Xanax). One MRI study showed that anticipating a punchline activates the same brain regions as solving a puzzle – basically mental CrossFit.
But here’s my dark humor take: Comedy lets us process trauma without the icky feelings. When I joked about my breakup during open mic night (“Turns out ‘we need space’ meant ‘I want to date your barista’”), the collective “OOOOOH” from the crowd was cheaper than three therapy sessions.
Pro tip: Seek “cringe comedy” that makes you snort-laugh. Those awkward, “did they really just say that?!” moments create bonding hormones called oxytocin. My squad’s current obsession? Watching 90s sitcom bloopers – the unscripted messiness is pure serotonin.
Final confession: I now keep a “comedy first aid kit” – 5 emergency memes on my phone for panic attacks. Last week, a video of a corgi attempting stairs got me through a client call from hell. Judge all you want, but my Oura ring says my REM sleep improved 22%.
