Is it OK to laugh at mental illness?
What we should and shouldn’t laugh at is a seriously hot topic right now. The words ‘cancel culture’ are shouted from every social media platform and Daily Mail article the second somebody in the public eye is challenged on something they’ve said. It’s as though challenging and questioning is considered weak (sorry, but nobody ever taught us that in school, did they?)
Comedians such as Jimmy Carr make the headlines by pushing the comedy envelope (otherwise known as spouting thinly veiled venom in the name of comedy for a cheap laugh) and the world is as split as a popular banana dessert (not the banoffee one, although I think the world is pretty split over whether that makes a good dessert too. Personally, I’m all for it).
But surely what we should and shouldn’t joke about - or laugh at - is personal? Surely it’s everyone’s right to say what they like and laugh at what they like?
Before I go any further, I should make clear that this is an opinion piece. This is how I feel about words and about my responsibility - and privilege (because it is) - as an author.
And yes, I believe in freedom of speech. But words are powerful - if they weren’t, we wouldn’t be so moved by books and poetry and song lyrics (I discount anything by the Vengaboys when I make that statement by the way). If we think about those tweets and messages that Trump communicated before the Capitol was stormed we can see how words have real impact. Because they were just words too, right? And he never explicitly said ‘storm the Capitol’ just as Jimmy Carr never explicitly said ‘Roma people are worthless.’ But those words are powerful and they trigger thoughts, feelings and actions in others.
Besides, nobody is banning words, they are challenging them. And surely we’ve got the right to do that as well? To encourage reflection on the power and intentions of our words - especially when it comes to those who are privileged enough to command audiences…
We have a responsibility don’t we? Words make people think and feel and act in certain ways. They make us believe - or suspect. They can build us up or break us down. They kind of make the world go round. They’re not some inconsequential part of life that deserves to be dismissed with phrases such as ‘you literally can’t say anything these days. *eye roll emoji*’
As someone who writes a lot on mental health and trauma, I often work with ‘sensitivity readers’ (I prefer to call them expert readers) when I write - and I’ve also worked as a reader of TV scripts too on behalf of the mental health charity Mind. The reason I work with readers as an author is quite simply for authenticity. The more authentic I can be, the better the book. I also want to ensure that I am not perpetuating stigma by creating fictional images that reference very real issues that very real people face. Stigma kills - end of (don’t believe me? Imagine feeling suicidal or struggling with drug addiction and feeling too ashamed to ask for help?)
HOWEVER, I also write with humour (at least, I try to!) So if the book is about mental health, and I’m writing jokey scenes within it, then surely that means I’m laughing at mental illness?
Not quite…
I grew up with debilitating panic attacks as a teenager so I know first-hand that mental illness is no joke. These panic attacks and my associated health anxiety lasted on and off throughout my 20s and made a brief return in my 30s, waking me up in the middle of the night to say, hey, it’s been 10 years, so we’ve clubbed together to give you the MOTHER of all panic attacks. In fact, whether or not perimenopause was the reason behind my most recent bout of obsessional health anxiety - or simply bad timing and coincidence - I’ve definitely had a resurgence of unwanted anxiety over the last few months so this is all fresh in my mind. Unfortunately.
Thanks brain.
But I still write comedy in books about mental health. Why?
1. Because we need light and dark to get through
One of the key ingredients of recovery from any mental health problem is hope. Perspective is another. And sometimes we need to find the funny in our experiences to afford ourselves a dollop of compassion. I found this to be true when I met with a former colleague for a cuppa and we shared stories of our strange obsessions and behaviours (linked to my health anxiety and my friend’s OCD). We ROARED with laughter. It was like we were releasing the darkness and the shame and forgiving ourselves for the weird shit we’d said or done because, well, it’s part of an illness, and, as it turns out, we’re not crazy, and we’re certainly not alone in it all. We weren’t minimising - but we were trying to re-frame our experiences because, well, one they’re ours to do as we please and two, it helps. Also, we had the luxury of reflecting - rather than being in the middle of it (more on that later).
Writing about your own experiences is seriously cathartic and if someone else can relate, it might help them too.
2. Because I’m not laughing at someone else’s distress
Two things are key here. Firstly, in the example above, I was laughing at my own experiences because doing so helped me feel better about things. Secondly, it’s retrospective. My friend wasn’t sitting there making light of my distress because I wasn’t currently experiencing any - and vice versa. Point and laugh at somebody in the middle of a mental health crisis (be it a panic attack, psychotic episode or alcoholic binge) and, in my view, that basically makes you a bit of a cunt, really. If you haven’t been in that person’s shoes, how can you judge or make light of it?
But what if you want to write comedy around a mental health story and you don’t have that lived experience? Well, I think you can still do it - but I think it needs some thoughtful consideration. Firstly, ask yourself - are you really the best person to write this? Secondly, think about what you’re basing your stories or scenes on? (i.e. have you done your research / spoken to people with lived experience?) And think about why you’re writing it - what is the aim of it?
Lastly, as briefly mentioned, I don’t believe we should ever take the piss out of distress or crisis. Comedy can have light and dark moments - I just think it’s best to try and use your palette appropriately. How? I think that’s common sense…but context is key. People (or characters) with mental health problems, just like anyone else, can be really funny. Their distressing mental health symptoms, however, might not be the right moments in which to dial up the laughter.
3. No topic is off limits - it’s about the context and our aims
I don’t believe that we should never show stigma. No topic is off limits in my view, it’s more about the context and our aims. For example, you have a character on a soap shouting ‘you’re crazy, you’re unfit to be a mother’ at another character who has bipolar disorder. But if the character shouting these insults is shown to be ignorant, if other characters challenge them, and if they come off badly for saying those words, then that’s highlighting stigma, which is important.
And I think it’s the same with humour. Taking the piss out of the stigma, rather than the mental illness is surely a good thing?
Similarly using our lived experience to reflect in humorous ways can also work well - if we are showing that, in telling a joke or writing an inspirational character these experiences don’t make us bad or crazy no hopers. They are just experiences - they are not who we are.
Photo 1 by Marija Zaric on Unsplash
Photo 2 by Tim Mossholder on Unsplash