The Quiet Laughter in the Room: On the Use of Humour in Counselling and Therapy

Humour has always carried a curious kind of medicine. Its very name comes from the humours of the ancient Greeks - the bodily fluids once thought to govern both health and mood. Even then, laughter was seen as a sign of balance, vitality, and release.

Today, we understand humour not as superstition but as psychology: a subtle alchemy of timing, trust, and shared humanity. Yet, for something so delicate, it is remarkably powerful.

Why Humour Matters

Humour, at its best, brings lightness to the heavy places of the mind.
Researchers such as Kuiper and Martin (1993, 1998) found that humour can significantly improve psychological wellbeing - though they also noted that not all humour heals. Later work distinguished between adaptive forms (affiliative or self-enhancing humour that builds connection and resilience) and maladaptive forms (aggressive or self-defeating humour that hides pain or mocks others).

In the therapy room, humour - when used well - can open a door. It can help clients reframe distressing thoughts, regulate emotions, and approach difficult material without becoming overwhelmed. Laughter, as Berk et al. (2001) showed, can even reduce cortisol levels, easing stress and anxiety. Shared laughter, according to Marci et al. (2004), can deepen rapport between therapist and client, reminding both that healing need not always be solemn.

Freud, Rogers, and the Human Touch

Sigmund Freud was one of the first to take humour seriously. In Jokes and Their Relation to the Unconscious (1905), he described it as a safe outlet for forbidden thoughts - a bridge between the conscious and the repressed. Through jokes, he suggested, we find a socially acceptable way to speak of what is difficult, even taboo.

Carl Rogers, though he never wrote directly about humour, gave us something just as vital: permission to be human. In his Person-Centred approach, the therapist’s authenticity and empathy form the core of the work. When humour arises naturally and kindly, it can reinforce these conditions - showing the therapist as genuine, unguarded, and real.

A moment of shared laughter can quietly dissolve hierarchy. It tells the client: you and I meet here as equals.

Humour as Connection and Catalyst

Modern research continues to support what therapists often sense intuitively.
Gentle humour, used ethically and attuned to the client, can foster trust, deepen disclosure, and even enhance therapeutic outcomes (Sultanoff, 2013). Within CBT, humour can help highlight the absurdity of rigid or self-critical thoughts, prompting clients to question them more playfully.

In existential therapy, thinkers like Yalom (1980) describe humour as a way of facing life’s inherent absurdities - a means of finding freedom amid uncertainty. The ability to laugh, even softly, at the paradoxes of being alive, is itself a kind of acceptance.

When Humour Hurts

Yet humour, like all tools, carries risk. It can misfire or be misunderstood.
Because humour is profoundly cultural and personal, what one client finds liberating another may find dismissive or even offensive. Trauma survivors, for example, may perceive certain forms of humour as minimising their pain. Tone, timing, and relationship depth matter enormously.

Therapists must also watch for deflection - when clients use humour to avoid emotional discomfort. The line between release and avoidance can be fine. Sensitivity, observation, and supervision help the practitioner discern when laughter opens something - and when it closes it down.

Cultural differences complicate things further. A dry British irony that softens tension for one client might seem rude or confusing to someone from a different background. As Sue et al. (2009) remind us, humour must always align with the principles of beneficence and non-maleficence - to help, not to harm.

Lessons from Research - and the Therapy Room

Across studies, a clear pattern emerges. Humour strengthens the therapeutic relationship when it arises from empathy, timing, and shared understanding.
Franzini (2001) found that gentle humour can help trauma survivors process pain without being overwhelmed. Keltner and Bonanno (1997) observed that in grief therapy, laughter can bring a brief but healing lightness amid sorrow.

There are even physiological benefits: laughter improves cardiovascular function (Berk et al., 2001), raises pain thresholds (Dunbar et al., 2012), and reduces stress hormones. But perhaps the most profound benefit is relational - laughter as a form of mutual recognition.

I once worked with a client who had lost an arm and a leg in an industrial accident. He joked that the expensive pair of shoes he’d bought “really did cost me an arm and a leg.” His humour wasn’t denial; it was mastery. In that moment, the room softened. Humour gave him agency over the tragedy, a way to own his story.

Boundaries and Authenticity

The secret to using humour well in therapy lies not in technique, but in authenticity.
Forced or deliberate attempts at being “funny” rarely help; they sound mechanical and risk undermining trust. But humour that arises naturally, from shared presence and understanding, can be profoundly healing.

Therapists, too, need humour for survival. In a profession that often bears the weight of others’ pain, gentle laughter can protect against burnout and restore perspective. Shared humour in supervision or peer support reminds us that even in our most serious work, light still exists.

In the End

The use of humour in therapy is not about telling jokes. It is about holding paradox - the coexistence of sorrow and joy, fear and relief, gravity and grace. When used with empathy, humour can humanise, connect, and renew. When used without care, it can wound.

The skill lies in knowing the difference.