Dear Diary,
We all have coping mechanisms.
Ways we process the things that hurt.
Ways we quiet our minds when life gets too loud.
Ways we escape for a little while when reality becomes heavier than we want to carry.
Ways we find ourselves again.
I have quite a few.
I bake.
I write this blog.
I spend time near the ocean.
I listen to music.
I disappear into my Disney obsession—especially Winnie the Pooh.
And sometimes, I happily retreat into the magical world of Harry Potter.
What I reach for depends entirely on what I’m feeling, what I’m going through, and what I need in that particular moment.
But there is one coping mechanism that is a little different from the others.
Humor.
Humor is absolutely one of my coping mechanisms.
But apparently, it is also the one that likes to tag along with all the others.
😂 Humor Is Apparently Part of the Package
I don’t always consciously decide to be funny.
Sometimes I come across as humorous without even trying—or realizing I’m doing it.
I have a knack for making people laugh when I am attempting to have a completely serious conversation.
I can be explaining something important, fully committed to making my point, and suddenly someone starts laughing.
Meanwhile, I’m looking around like:
“What? What did I say?”
Apparently, somewhere between my facial expressions, delivery, sarcasm, choice of words, and the way my brain processes situations, comedy sneaks into the conversation without bothering to ask permission.
Sometimes I’m deliberately making the joke.
Other times, I’m completely serious and everyone around me has apparently purchased tickets to a comedy show I didn’t know I was performing.
At this point, I’ve mostly accepted it.
Humor is one of my coping mechanisms, but it is also the one that somehow weaves itself through all the others.
🧰 Different Days Require Different Tools
I’ve realized that I don’t reach for the same thing every time life gets difficult.
Because every difficult moment doesn’t need the same thing.
Sometimes I need to create.
Sometimes I need to escape.
Sometimes I need to feel.
Sometimes I need to process.
Sometimes I need peace.
Sometimes I need comfort.
Sometimes I need to remember who I am outside of whatever I’m going through.
None of my coping mechanisms necessarily changes what I’m facing.
That’s not their job.
They help me regulate.
Regroup.
Escape when I need a break.
Process when I need to understand.
Create when I need an outlet.
Find comfort when I need somewhere emotionally safe to land.
And sometimes, they simply remind me that even when life is difficult, there are still things in this world that bring me joy.
🧁 When I Need to Create, I Bake
There is something therapeutic about baking.
You measure.
You mix.
You create.
And unlike chronic illness—or life in general—if you follow the recipe, there is at least a reasonable expectation that things will turn out the way they’re supposed to.
Usually.
Because occasionally the cake has its own plans too.
But baking gives my mind somewhere else to go.
For a little while, I’m not thinking about symptoms, appointments, responsibilities, problems, or tomorrow.
I’m thinking about whether I remembered the vanilla.
Or wondering why I own twelve baking pans but somehow can’t find the exact one I need.
See?
Humor has already entered the kitchen.
I told you it comes with everything.
✍🏽 When I Need to Process, I Write
Then there is this blog.
The Dual Diagnosis Diaries.
Writing gives me somewhere to put the things I carry.
Sometimes I educate.
Sometimes I advocate.
Sometimes I reflect.
Sometimes I tell you what happened.
Sometimes I tell you how it felt.
Sometimes I write about things that have absolutely nothing to do with chronic illness because I am more than my diagnoses.
And sometimes I turn two serious autoimmune diseases into freeloading roommates who repeatedly ignore their eviction notices.
Writing helps me process.
Humor helps me breathe while I’m processing.
Together, they let me tell the truth without requiring every truth to feel unbearably heavy.
🌊 When I Need Peace, I Find the Ocean
There is something about being near the ocean that settles me.
The sound.
The breeze.
The endless horizon.
The feeling that the world is so much bigger than whatever feels enormous in my life at that particular moment.
The ocean doesn’t solve my problems.
My illnesses are still there when I leave.
My responsibilities haven’t magically disappeared.
But for a while, I can simply be.
Sometimes coping isn’t about fixing anything.
Sometimes it’s about finding somewhere peaceful enough to put everything down for a minute.
Of course, knowing me, eventually I’ll see something, think something, or say something that makes me laugh.
Because apparently even tranquility needs commentary.
🎶 When I Need to Feel, I Turn Up the Music
Music meets me wherever I am.
There are songs for the days I feel unstoppable.
Songs for the days I need encouragement.
Songs that make me dance.
Songs that make me remember.
Songs that let me cry.
Songs that take me back to another time in my life.
And songs that somehow say exactly what I needed to hear before I even realized I needed to hear it.
Sometimes I don’t need advice.
I don’t need answers.
I just need the right song at the right volume.
Preferably loud.
And depending on the song, there may be singing.
I make absolutely no promises regarding the quality of said singing.
🍯 When I Need Comfort, I Find Pooh
Then there is Disney.
And especially Winnie the Pooh.
Some people might look at an adult’s love of Disney characters and think it’s simply collecting things, watching movies, visiting parks, or enjoying nostalgia.
For me, it’s more than that.
Sometimes familiar things are comforting precisely because they are familiar.
There is warmth in returning to characters and stories that make me smile.
There is comfort in something that feels uncomplicated when life feels anything but.
Sometimes, when adult life becomes entirely too adult, I need a little Hundred Acre Wood energy.
Although if we’re being truthful, Pooh and I share an important philosophy:
Sometimes the answer really might be a snack.
Preferably something sweet.
⚡ When I Need to Escape, I Find a Little Magic
And then there’s Harry Potter.
Sometimes I don’t need to process reality immediately.
Sometimes I need permission to leave it alone for a while.
Give me Hogwarts.
Give me magic.
Give me a world where staircases move, portraits talk, and problems can occasionally be solved with a wand.
Because there are days when adulthood, responsibilities, chronic illness, and everything else happening in the real world have exhausted their allotted speaking time.
On those days?
I’m mentally headed to Platform 9¾.
Do not disturb.
Unless you’re bringing snacks.
🏠 And Sometimes I Laugh at What I Can’t Change
Of course, Crohn’s and MG have never been particularly concerned about which coping mechanism I’ve selected.
They have their own plans.
Somewhere along the way, they became my freeloading roommates.
They live here.
They don’t pay rent.
They interrupt my plans.
And despite the numerous eviction notices I have served, neither appears interested in moving out.
Which, considering I work in property management, feels especially disrespectful.
Apparently, management has no authority over this particular property.
Rude.
But that’s also a perfect example of what humor does for me.
I can’t simply evict Crohn’s or MG.
But I can decide they are terrible tenants.
And sometimes being able to laugh at something I cannot change makes living with it a little easier.
💜 Humor Doesn’t Mean It Doesn’t Hurt
This is the part I never want people to misunderstand.
I don’t laugh because everything is okay.
I don’t make jokes because chronic illness—or any other difficult experience—is funny.
And when I’m coping with something unrelated to illness, humor doesn’t necessarily mean that situation isn’t hurting me either.
Sometimes people see the person making everyone laugh and assume that person must be handling everything beautifully.
Not necessarily.
The person making you laugh can still be hurting.
The person cracking jokes may still be afraid.
The person making light of something may have cried about that exact same thing earlier.
Humor and pain can occupy the same space.
So can gratitude and frustration.
Strength and exhaustion.
Hope and fear.
Joy and grief.
My laughter doesn’t mean something isn’t heavy. Sometimes laughter is simply how I make the weight easier to carry.
Humor gives me a little breathing room.
It lets me look at something difficult from another angle.
Sometimes it even gives me back a tiny piece of control when circumstances have taken control away.
I may not get to choose everything that happens to me.
But I still get to choose how I tell the story.
🎵 Music Playing in My Head…
“Three Little Birds” — Bob Marley & The Wailers
There is something fitting about a song built around reassurance.
Not because everything is always okay.
Not because difficult things magically work themselves out.
But because sometimes we need reminders that this moment isn’t the whole story.
Sometimes we need to believe that there is still another morning coming.
And sometimes we need music to remind us of something our worried minds have temporarily forgotten:
We can be going through something and still find moments of peace inside it.
💭 Reflection Corner
Maybe coping isn’t about finding the one thing that works.
Maybe it’s about knowing yourself well enough to recognize what you need today.
What comforts me when I’m sad may not be what helps me when I’m angry.
What helps when I’m overwhelmed may not be what I need when I’m scared.
Sometimes I need an outlet.
Sometimes I need an escape.
Sometimes I need peace.
Sometimes I need nostalgia.
Sometimes I need to feel everything.
Sometimes I need permission to think about absolutely nothing.
And sometimes?
I need several things at once.
There can absolutely be music playing while I’m baking something in a Winnie the Pooh shirt before sitting down to write a blog entry that somehow includes a Harry Potter reference.
That’s called efficiency.
And somewhere in the middle of all of it, I’ll probably find something funny.
Not because I’m ignoring whatever I’m going through.
Not because I’m pretending everything is fine.
But because humor seems to be part of the language I use to move through life.
🌻 The Toolbox Changes. The Humor Stays.
What I reach for depends on what I’m carrying.
Baking gives me something to create.
Writing gives my experiences somewhere to go.
The ocean gives me peace.
Music gives my emotions a soundtrack.
Winnie the Pooh gives me comfort and familiarity.
Harry Potter gives me imagination and escape.
And humor?
Humor somehow finds its way into all of them.
Sometimes intentionally.
Sometimes completely accidentally.
Sometimes I make the joke.
Sometimes everyone else is laughing while I’m still trying to figure out what exactly I said that was funny.
But laughter keeps showing up.
And I’m glad it does.
Because life is serious enough.
Chronic illness is serious enough.
There are plenty of things I cannot control.
But I can still bake.
I can still write.
I can still find the ocean.
I can still turn up the music.
I can still visit the Hundred Acre Wood.
I can still escape to Hogwarts.
And I can still laugh.
Those things don’t erase the difficult parts of my life.
They remind me that the difficult parts aren’t all of my life.
The coping mechanism I reach for may change depending on what I’m carrying.
But somehow, humor always comes with me.
And no matter what Crohn’s, MG, or life itself decides to throw into the next chapter…
I’m still the one holding the pen.
There may be flour on the page.
Pooh may be somewhere nearby looking for honey.
My Hogwarts acceptance letter may still be ridiculously late.
Crohn’s and MG will probably be violating their lease again.
And somehow…
there will still be laughter.
💬 Your Turn
What’s inside your coping toolbox?
Do different emotions send you toward different things?
Maybe it’s music, faith, family, baking, books, travel, exercise, nostalgia, nature, television, writing—or something only you understand.
Whatever helps you carry the heavy things, I hope you recognize its value.
Because sometimes baking isn’t just baking.
A song isn’t just a song.
A fictional world isn’t just an escape.
Sitting beside the ocean isn’t doing nothing.
Writing isn’t simply putting words on a page.
And laughter doesn’t mean you aren’t hurting.
Sometimes these are the little things helping us find our way through the big things. 🌻💜
Thank you for walking another piece of this journey with me. Whether you are living with chronic illness, loving someone who is, or simply navigating your own version of life’s unexpected plot twists, I hope these stories remind you that you are never alone.
If this entry made you laugh, made you think, or reminded you of someone you love, please like, subscribe, and share The Dual Diagnosis Diaries. Every share helps these conversations reach someone who may need to know that there is room for honesty, frustration, comfort, escape, joy and laughter in the same story.
Until next time, I’ll probably be coping somewhere.
Possibly near the ocean.
Possibly baking.
Definitely with music.
There’s a strong possibility Pooh or Harry Potter will be involved.
And whatever I’m doing…
I’m pretty sure humor will find me there. 😂🌻
Founder • Author • Advocate • Future Wellness Coach
Kia Lorice
The Dual Diagnosis Diaries 💜
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