Posted by Amy Diehl, Ph.D on X.com Why women’s laughter has long been treated as a threat | Psyche Ideas There is a scene televisi
Posted by Amy Diehl, Ph.D on X.com
Why women’s laughter has long been treated as a threat | Psyche Ideas
There is a scene television loves to give us before a man becomes violent with a woman. It feels …default to me now but not true to life. Not truth. Trope.
She is angry. She raises her voice. She tells him exactly what she thinks. Maybe she insults him. Maybe she threatens to leave. The argument gets hotter, and then he assaults her.
After years of listening to women talk about violence, I know another scene. Sometimes she was laughing.
That’s it. Not even AT him.
She was sitting on the couch watching something funny on television. She was on the phone with her best girlfriend, laughing so hard they could barely finish the story. Couldn’t catch her breath. One of the children said something ridiculous at the dinner table. She had music playing while she cleaned. She was dancing around the house. She had gotten absorbed in something she loved doing and, for a little while, she was enjoying herself.
Then she noticed his face.
Women who have lived with controlling men know that change in the room. You can be having an ordinary little human moment and suddenly realize somebody is angry that you are having it.
Sometimes he wanted to know what was so funny.
Sometimes the laughter itself irritated him. She was too loud. She was acting silly. She was ignoring him. She was enjoying herself when he was in a bad mood. She seemed too happy after they had argued earlier. She had apparently recovered from something he believed should still have her upset.
Her joy had not been cleared through him.
I think about this when I watch dramas about violence against women, because storytelling can quietly teach us what we think violence is supposed to look like. If the scene before the assault always shows a woman screaming, insulting, confronting or pushing a man to his emotional limit, viewers can begin expecting a recognizable escalation.
Real homes can be much stranger and more frightening than that.
A controlling person may become angry because a woman went to sleep when he wanted to keep arguing. He may resent her reading peacefully, enjoying her children, talking too long to a friend, singing along with a song, putting on an outfit that makes her feel beautiful, succeeding at something, resting without permission, or developing an interest that does not include him.
There may be no dramatic confrontation to point to because the problem was never her anger.
The problem was that she had a life inside herself that he could not completely control.
That is one of the things I wish more women knew, especially women who keep searching backward through painful memories trying to locate the exact thing they did wrong.
Maybe you remember laughing.
Maybe you remember being playful, peaceful, distracted, sleepy, excited, proud of yourself or simply somewhere else in your mind. Then somebody punished the moment. Eventually you learned to watch yourself. You checked the volume of your laughter. You watched how long you stayed on the phone. You stopped dancing when he walked into the room. You learned not to look too happy about plans that did not involve him.
A woman can become so practiced at managing another person’s reactions that she does not notice how small her own life has become.
That shrinking can follow Survivors long after the relationship ends. You may catch yourself explaining harmless pleasures. You may feel strangely guilty for resting. You may lower your laugh without knowing why. You may become nervous when happiness makes you visible.
So I want to say something simple to the woman who recognizes herself here.
Your laughter belongs to you.
Your friendships belong to you. Your hobbies belong to you. Your music, silliness, dancing, daydreaming, quiet afternoons, private jokes, belly laughs, celebrations and little pockets of peace belong to you.
You do not need permission to have a beautiful moment in the middle of an ordinary Tuesday.
And when somebody repeatedly punishes your happiness, pay attention. Love should never require a woman to keep one eye on another person’s face while she is laughing.
Sometimes freedom returns in very small sounds.
A song playing while you cook. A friend calling with foolishness. Children giggling in the next room. Your own laugh coming out before you have time to measure it.
Let it come.
Some joy was never meant to be authorized.
I have permission to enjoy my own life.
My laughter does not require anyone’s approval.
I am allowed to laugh loudly, freely, suddenly, and for no reason I need to explain.
I am allowed to have a wonderful day even when someone else is unhappy.
I can enjoy myself without checking the room to see who might be bothered by it.
I am allowed to dance in my kitchen, sing in my car, laugh with my girlfriends, and lose track of time doing something I love.
My happiness does not belong to anyone else to ration.
I am allowed to have interests that belong entirely to me.
I can enjoy friendships that nourish parts of me no relationship should consume.
I am allowed to be silly. Playfulness is part of being alive.
I can laugh with my children without waiting for the mood in the house to permit it.
I am allowed to become completely absorbed in a book, a garden, a movie, a song, a craft, a dream, or an afternoon of doing absolutely nothing.
I do not have to shrink a beautiful moment because somebody else refuses to enjoy theirs.
I am allowed to celebrate myself.
I am allowed to be excited about something that has nothing to do with a man.
I can wear something beautiful simply because I enjoy seeing myself in it.
I am allowed to feel good in my own body.
I can rest without earning it through exhaustion.
I am allowed to sleep peacefully.
I am allowed to wake up looking forward to something.
I do not have to apologize for recovering my happiness after somebody tried to spoil it.
I can stop studying faces for permission to be myself.
I can stop measuring my laughter.
I can finish the phone call.
I can keep dancing.
I can keep singing.
I can enjoy the joke.
I can take the trip.
I can celebrate the good news.
I can buy the flowers.
I can make plans.
I can have something to look forward to.
I can build a life filled with people who smile when they hear me laugh.
I am allowed to discover what delights me now. Survival may have changed me, and there are still beautiful things left for me to meet.
Joy does not make me careless. Joy reminds me that I am alive.
Peace does not have to be purchased by making myself smaller.
The sound of my happiness is not disrespect.
My delight is not disobedience.
My pleasure is not provocation.
My laughter is not an offense.
I am allowed to have a life that feels good while I am living it.
And when laughter rises naturally from somewhere deep inside me, I do not have to swallow it anymore.
I can let it all the way out.