Finding the Funny in the Flailing

This week, I want to focus on humor — not the kind you pay for at a comedy club or find in Happy Gilmore, but the kind life insists on handing you when you least expect it. The kind that keeps you laughing with your challenges instead of crying at them.

For those unfamiliar with what living with tremors is like, imagine an invisible puppeteer taking hold of your hands, wrists, and fingers — and deciding they know best. That’s my daily reality. My hands have a mind of their own, and sometimes, that mind is a stand-up comic.

Yesterday, my husband Justin and I celebrated nine years of marriage. He’s seen it all — the tremors, the muscle contractions, the accidental flying utensils — and somehow still thinks I’m hilarious.

Over dinner, as I was heroically attempting to cut my prime rib, my tremors took over. Just as the waitress stopped by to check on our meal, my fork launched a perfectly cooked piece of steak across the table and onto her tray.

Time froze.

Justin and I stared at her like we’d just witnessed a slow-motion action scene. I fumbled out a trembling “sorry,” but Justin’s laughter broke through first — full, contagious, and impossible to ignore.

The waitress cracked up too and said,
“I just ate, but thank you for sharing.”

And just like that, the tension melted.

What could’ve been embarrassing turned into one of those beautifully ridiculous moments that remind me: laughter is medicine you can’t overdose on.

Life with a disability comes with bloopers. Find the humor in them — not the mean kind, the human kind. The kind that says, Yeah, this is my reality — and I’m still laughing.

Because sometimes, laughter is the most graceful way to take control of what you can’t.