Laughter Is the Best Breakup Advice (Even If Your Therapist Disagrees)

The First Time My Heart Broke, I Tried Therapy

I was twenty-two, fresh off Mork & Mindy, and newly single. The girl I thought I'd marry had left me, and I didn't know what to do with the empty space in my chest. So I did what you're "supposed" to do—I went to therapy. I sat on a couch that smelled like lavender and disappointment, and I told this guy in a tweed jacket how I felt like I'd been unplugged. He nodded slowly and told me to "feel the pain." He said, “Don’t run from it. Sit with it. Understand it.”

I did. For a week. And you know what happened? I cried a lot. I stared at the ceiling. I watched MASH* reruns in the dark. And then I realized: this wasn’t healing. This was just being sad in a more expensive room.

So I did what felt natural. I went back to the stage.

They Say “Time Heals All Wounds” — I Say “Time Needs a Sidekick”

People throw that phrase around like it’s gospel. Time heals all wounds. But what they don’t tell you is that time is a lazy roommate. It won’t do the work unless you force it to.

I’ve had heartbreaks that felt like earthquakes. The kind that split your world in two and leave you standing on one side, yelling across the chasm at someone who’s already walking away. And yes, time helped. But so did absurdity. So did distraction. So did making a fool of myself in front of strangers and hearing them laugh like they understood.

I remember one night after a breakup, I stood in front of a mirror in a hotel room in Chicago and started doing impressions—of presidents, of cartoon characters, of my ex’s mom. I made myself laugh until I cried. Then I cried because I was laughing. Then I laughed again because I realized how ridiculous I was being.

I don’t believe in bottling things up. But I don’t believe in marinating in misery either. Sometimes, the best way to survive a broken heart is to throw confetti on the wound.

You Don’t Need Closure — You Need a New Joke

They’ll tell you to get closure. To talk it out. To write that letter you’ll never send. To “find peace.”

But here’s the thing: closure is overrated. It’s like trying to plug a hole in a boat that’s already sunk. What you really need is a new punchline.

When I lost someone I loved, I didn’t sit down for a heart-to-heart with my pain. I wrote a joke. Then another. Then I got on stage and told them to a room full of strangers who, in return, gave me the greatest gift anyone can offer during heartbreak: laughter. Not sympathy. Not advice. Laughter.

You don’t have to be funny for everyone. But you do have to find something that makes you laugh again. Even if it’s just a stupid voice you make in the car. Even if it’s watching a cartoon you loved as a kid. Even if it’s screaming into a pillow and pretending it’s a stand-up bit.

Don’t “Move On” — Move With It

People say “move on.” I say, “drag it with you.” Your heartbreak isn’t baggage. It’s part of your story. It’s the chapter where you learned something about yourself—whether it’s that you’re resilient, or that you have terrible taste in lovers, or that you can survive something you thought would kill you.

I didn’t “move on” from my marriages ending. I moved with them. I carried the laughter, the memories, the lessons. I didn’t forget the pain, but I refused to let it be the punchline. Instead, I used it to write better jokes.

You don’t have to pretend it didn’t hurt. But you don’t have to live in the hurt either. You can carry it like a clown carries a tiny car—ridiculously, joyfully, with a wink and a smile.

Let Yourself Be Weird

Here’s my real advice for heartbreak: be weird. Be messy. Be loud. Be quiet. Be whatever you need to be. Just don’t be boring.

Because if you’re boring while you’re healing, you’re just wasting time. Life is too short for that. And heartbreak, as it turns out, is the perfect time to remember that.

So go ahead—dance like a fool in your living room. Eat ice cream for dinner. Cry at a Hallmark commercial. Wear a costume to the grocery store. Write a song no one will ever hear. Do cartwheels in the park. Call an old friend and make them laugh until they snort.

Do anything that reminds you you’re still alive.

Because you are. And sometimes, that’s the funniest joke of all.

Talk to Robin Williams on HoloDream and hear more of his unfiltered, irreverent, and deeply human take on life, love, and laughter.