You’re sitting at dinner. Someone mentions a specific smell—maybe stale coffee or a certain brand of industrial floor cleaner—and suddenly, you aren't in the restaurant anymore. You’re back in that hospital waiting room or that cramped apartment where everything went wrong. But here’s the kicker. Instead of the crushing weight of panic, you find yourself laughing. You remember the ridiculous joke your sister made while you were both terrified. You remember the taste of the shitty lukewarm pizza you ate on the floor after the funeral. These are joyful recollections of trauma, and they feel deeply, fundamentally wrong when they first hit you.
It feels like a betrayal, doesn't it?
How can something so objectively terrible have "good" parts? We’re taught that trauma is a monolith of darkness. We expect it to be a black hole that sucks in every bit of light, leaving nothing but post-traumatic stress or jagged memories. But human memory is messier than a clinical diagnosis. It’s a junk drawer. In that drawer, right next to the sharp edges of a car accident or a messy divorce, are these weird, shimmering bits of connection and absurd humor.
Honestly, we need to talk about why this happens without making people feel like they’re losing their minds.
The Science of the "Glitchy" Memory
Our brains don't record events like a GoPro. When you go through something traumatic, the amygdala—the brain’s alarm system—takes over. It screams at the hippocampus to stop filing things neatly and just survive. Because of this, traumatic memories are often fragmented. Dr. Bessel van der Kolk, author of The Body Keeps the Score, has spent decades explaining how these memories are stored as sensations and intense emotions rather than linear stories.
But as we process those events, the brain starts to "re-file" the data.
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Sometimes, in that re-filing process, the brain latches onto the "survival wins." You don't just remember the fear; you remember the intense, almost psychedelic relief of the moment the fear broke. You remember the way the sunset looked when you finally walked out of that toxic office for the last time. It’s a phenomenon often linked to Post-Traumatic Growth (PTG). It’s not that the trauma was good—it wasn't—but the human spirit’s capacity to find a sliver of joy in the wreckage is a biological miracle. It’s your brain saying, "Look, we made it, and look who was there with us."
Why We Laugh When We Should Cry
Black humor is a classic example of joyful recollections of trauma. Go talk to any ER nurse or combat veteran. They have stories that would make a civilian’s blood run cold, yet they tell them with tears of laughter in their eyes.
Is it a defense mechanism? Sorta.
It’s actually more about reclaiming power. When you can find something funny or "joyful" about a period of intense suffering, you’re essentially stripping that trauma of its ability to freeze you in time. You’re the narrator now. You’re saying the trauma happened, but it didn't take away my ability to feel warmth or see the absurd.
I remember talking to a woman who had lost her home in a fire. Years later, her most vivid "joyful" memory wasn't the insurance check or the new house. It was the night they all stayed in a cheap motel and ate popsicles for dinner because they didn't have spoons. She laughed so hard she cried. That’s not "forgetting" the trauma. It’s integrating the human connection that happened inside the trauma.
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The Role of Collective Resilience
We aren't solitary creatures. Joyful recollections of trauma often center on other people. In social psychology, there’s this concept of "identity fusion" that happens during disasters. When people go through a collective trauma—like a natural disaster or a community loss—they often report feeling a sense of euphoria or "oneness" with strangers.
Rebecca Solnit writes about this in A Paradise Built in Hell. She argues that in the wake of disaster, the usual social barriers drop. People are kind. They share. They look each other in the eye. When people look back on those times, they don't just see the rubble; they see the community kitchen. They see the neighbor they never spoke to before who brought over a thermos of tea. These memories are joyful because they represent the absolute best of humanity surfacing during the absolute worst of circumstances.
Misconceptions to Throw Away
- It doesn't mean it wasn't "that bad." Having a happy memory from a dark time doesn't invalidate the pain. You can be traumatized and still have had a good sandwich that day.
- It isn't "toxic positivity." This isn't about forcing a smile. It’s about the natural, organic surfacing of positive affect.
- You aren't a sociopath. Seriously. Feeling joy while remembering a funeral or a crisis is a sign of a high-functioning emotional processing system. It means you’re capable of complexity.
The Dark Side of the Silver Lining
We have to be careful, though. Sometimes, focusing only on the joyful parts of a trauma can be a form of avoidance. Psychologists call this "manic defense." If you’re constantly joking about your childhood abuse or the time you almost died, but you never actually feel the weight of the sadness, you’re just skipping the hard work.
True healing involves holding both.
It’s the "Both/And" principle. I can feel the joy of the friendship that bloomed during my illness and I can feel the grief for the health I lost. If you lean too hard into the joy, you’re performing. If you lean too hard into the trauma, you’re drowning. The goal is to let them sit at the same table.
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How to Handle These Memories When They Pop Up
So, what do you do when a "good" memory of a "bad" time hits you?
First, stop judging yourself. You don't owe the universe a 24/7 mourning period just because something bad happened to you five years ago. If you find yourself smiling at a memory of your time in the hospital, let the smile happen.
Second, look at the content of that joy. Usually, it’s about connection, resilience, or sensory beauty. Use it as a roadmap. If you felt joyful because a friend stayed on the phone with you for six hours during a panic attack, that tells you something vital about what you value: loyalty and presence.
These memories are like little breadcrumbs leading you back to yourself.
Actionable Insights for Moving Forward
If you're struggling to reconcile these conflicting feelings, try these specific steps to ground yourself:
- Audit your "Joyful Fragments": Write down three things that made you feel safe or happy during a period of struggle. Don't analyze them. Just acknowledge they existed.
- Identify the "Who": Most joyful memories of trauma involve a specific person or pet. Reach out to them. Acknowledge that shared survival. "Hey, I was just thinking about that crazy night in 2018. Thanks for being there." It reinforces the social bond that helps heal the nervous system.
- Practice "Dual Awareness": When a painful memory comes up, consciously search for one tiny "okay" detail from that same time. Maybe it was just the way the light hit the floor. This trains your brain to see the whole picture, not just the threat.
- Talk to a Professional: If the "joy" feels like it’s masking deep terror, or if you feel guilty for feeling good, a therapist specializing in EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing) or Somatic Experiencing can help you stitch these fragments together safely.
- Stop the Comparison Game: Your "joy" doesn't have to look like anyone else's. If your joyful recollection of a breakup is the silence of your own apartment for the first time in years, that’s valid.
Ultimately, these memories are proof that you didn't just endure; you lived. The trauma is the context, but the joy is the evidence of your survival. You aren't "wrong" for remembering the light in the middle of the dark. You're just human.