The first time I cracked a joke in a trauma-sensitive classroom, I hesitated. Would they laugh? Would it backfire? Would it feel insensitive?

But then, a girl who hadn’t spoken for three days burst out giggling. Her shoulders dropped. Her eyes lifted. And in that moment, something opened.

Humour is holy.

It has a way of slipping through the cracks that logic and lecture cannot. It disarms, invites, bridges, and softens. In my work with children who have experienced neglect, abuse, anxiety, or neurodivergence, I learned something sacred:

Laughter is a language that says, “You’re safe now.”

In my classroom, we chuckle at mistakes. We name characters in math problems. We give silly voices to exam instructions. Not because we don’t take learning seriously — but because we take healing seriously.

There is a science to it, too. Laughter reduces cortisol. Boosts memory. Builds rapport. But beyond science, there is spirit. Because joy is resistance. Joy says, “Even after all I’ve been through, I can still laugh. I can still be free.”

I’ve seen students go from shut-down to shining simply because we found their funny bone. And once they smile — once they know they’re allowed to smile — the walls come down and the real work begins.

So yes, I heal with herbs. I heal with prayer.

But sometimes… I heal with knock-knock jokes.