As I lead laughter yoga at the jail with women inmates, I learn a valuable lesson with each session. The inmates I laugh with are part of a re-entry program. Remaining in the re-entry program requires them to attend almost all classes. Twice a week, they are “required” to laugh with me in “laughter class”. I’ve been volunteering with re-entry groups at the jail for over a year. Each group is very different in their response to laughter yoga.
The current group of women has been especially “tough”, meaning, about three out of the six in the group will not laugh unless they feel like it. In jail, most people aren’t there because they’ve had such a great life. It’s no surprise that they don’t feel like laughing. Trying to get some of the more angry and “hardened” inmates to laugh can feel like a going on a long run up a mountain.
But I’ve found that not trying to do anything is one way to disarm their rigidity. I’m transparent. Present in the moment. I abandon my laughter yoga agenda before each class and determine to meet them where they are. I know this isn’t conventional, but it seems to help them trust me and each other. Once they understand that my time with them is also their time — to vent, laugh, cry, and relax — they also let go of their agenda of refusing to laugh.
They say my laughter is contagious. I share some of my story about laughter yoga each week, give them handouts with articles about laughter yoga, and make the most of each of their giggles. I include “feedback time” in every session after the silent meditation. It provides them with a sense of control and co-leadership of the class.
With each class, I try to build build build… trust. During one class with this group, building trust involved an inmate sharing a painful circumstance around her son for almost 45 minutes. He is 4 and was having major surgery that he may or may not have survived. She couldn’t be with him. She just had to wait for the news about the surgery from the Warden. She wasn’t in a place to laugh for no reason until she had been heard, hugged and allowed to cry. She didn’t ask to be in my class. She was there because she didn’t want to get kicked out of the re-entry program. I had to respect that. She ended up using laughter to release stress and blew the top off of the jail with her loud, silly laughter. She also wept during the silent meditation. Her remarks afterward were abundant – one really touched me. “Now, this is peace.”
The lesson for me for groups like these? Be fully empty with the laughter yoga goal in sight, but not as your required outcome for every class. They know why you’re there. They’ll follow your lead in time. Let them have control in a situation where they very little.