Dark Humor and Duct Tape: The Tools of This Healing Avoidant

Some people have therapy. Some people have wine. I have duct tape, Jesus, and an increasingly inappropriate sense of humor that’s been holding me together better than most relationships I've had.

This is my first Mother’s Day without my mom. A fact that hits like a punch to the gut wrapped in a Hallmark card. And while I’ve made room for the grief — prayed through it, cried at completely random moments in the day, journaled until the ink bled — I’ve also had to laugh. Not because anything is funny, but because if I don’t laugh, I’ll implode… and I’ve already tried that route. Didn’t love it.

Pick your poison to see what I posted on TikTok, Facebook, and Instagram.

It was dumb. And honest. And strangely comforting.

Because healing — real, soul-digging, ego-shattering healing — gets heavy. It’s not all Bible verses, early morning clarity, and breakthroughs that play out like movie montages. Sometimes it's just surviving with sarcasm as your flotation device.

And I think that’s okay.

Duct Tape for the Soul

Let me be clear: I’m not saying humor fixes the pain. But it sure as hell helps you survive it. It’s the duct tape that holds your insides together long enough to get to the healing part.

People don’t talk enough about the absurdity of grief — the way it sneaks up in grocery store aisles (okay, I can be honest, this is the circle-of-trust after all, drive-up and go grocery pickup), or when you’re just trying to live your life and bam there’s a ghost in your throat, and all you can do is cough up a joke to make the ache feel less sharp.

And when it comes to the emotional damage I’ve caused others — yeah, I’m not immune to that either. I’ve got a whole history of trying to love while emotionally duct-taped myself. But that’s what I’m working on now: not just fixing the mess, but finally figuring out why I kept breaking things in the first place.

Healing, but Make It Hilariously Sad

I don’t know where you are in your story — maybe you’re on your fifth therapist or your nineteenth time “starting over.” Maybe you’re staring at someone else’s silence, wondering if they’ll ever come back. Maybe you’re grieving someone who left, or someone who passed, or a version of yourself that didn’t survive the wreckage.

Wherever you are, I just want to say this:

You’re allowed to be deep and still sarcastic. You’re allowed to cry and still laugh. You can be in real pain and still post a meme about it. That’s not avoidance — that’s humanity. That’s survival with a sense of humor.

Final Thoughts from the Duct-Taped Desk of a Healing Avoidant

I’m healing — for real this time. But I still need the humor. Not because I’m not taking this seriously, but because I am. Healing is serious business. It deserves lightness where it can find it. Even if that lightness comes in the form of an irreverent TikTok or a joke only I laugh at.

Dark humor doesn’t mean I’m in denial.

It means I’m finally learning how to stay — in the pain, in the process, and in the presence of God — without completely losing my mind.

And honestly? That’s progress.