Humor and Disability: When Is It Okay to Laugh

Last week, while driving Owen to school, I needed a break, not from the morning chaos, but from the nonstop news cycle dominated by one particular individual (you know, the “greatest individual the world has ever seen”). So I switched over to Pure Comedy on Sirius XM, a clean stand-up channel that avoids vulgarity, which almost feels like a lost art these days. 

A new bit came on, and the comedian’s voice immediately caught my attention. Something about the pacing wasn’t typical. I glanced at the dashboard to see the performer and title: Josh Blue – Cerebral Palsy. 

By the next stop sign, I was hooked. Within a minute, I was laughing so hard I nearly had to pull over, full-on belly laughs, tears in my eyes. Owen demanded to know what was so funny. When I told him, he hit me with a comment I wasn’t ready for: 

“Dad, it’s not funny to laugh at people with a disability.” 

I told him I wasn’t laughing at him, but he didn’t quite get it. His words echoed in my mind during the entire drive home. I found myself wondering: 

“Is it okay that I’m laughing at this?” 

The Moment Humor Feels Uncomfortable 

When humor involves disability, that uneasy feeling is common. We’ve all seen jokes that punch down—where someone’s difference becomes the target. That’s not humor; that’s cruelty disguised as entertainment. 

But what was Josh Blue doing? It didn’t feel like that at all. 

He wasn’t inviting us to laugh at him. 
He was inviting us to laugh with him. 

There’s a profound difference in disability humor between agency and exploitation. 

Humor as Agency, Not Exploitation 

Many comedians with disabilities reclaim their stories through humor. They take the exact thing the world sometimes misunderstands, pities, or avoids, and shine a spotlight on it with sharpness and confidence. 

They own the narrative. 
They define the tone. 
They control the punchline. 

In that space, humor becomes empowerment. 

People with diabetes do this, too. We joke about carb math that rivals NASA calculations, the 3 a.m. CGM alarms that could raise the dead, or the infamous rage bolus when a stubborn high refuses to budge. Humor becomes part of survival, a pressure valve, a bonding ritual, a way of saying “same here.” 

But when humor comes from outside that lived experience? 

The tone shifts. 
The joke lands differently. 
You feel the difference immediately. 

Humor: The Great Uniter… or Divider 

Humor is powerful. It can build trust faster than almost anything else. A shared laugh melts tension and creates instant community. 

But humor can divide just as easily: 

• When it reinforces stereotypes 
• When it punches down 
• When it makes someone’s diagnosis, identity, or disability the punchline 

So where is the line? 

Is it the intent?  

Is it who’s telling the joke?  

Is it how the joke lands?  

Yes. Yes. And Yes 

Comedy’s Complicated History With Disability 

This debate isn’t new. In ancient courts, the king’s fool existed solely to be laughed at. Comedy has always danced close to discomfort, using exaggeration, difference, and vulnerability to provoke a reaction. 

Throughout history, the key has been who controls the narrative. 

That still matters today, especially in conversations about disability representation and inclusive humor. 

When Diabetes Enters the Conversation 

As someone who lives with diabetes and raises a child with it, I understand how humor becomes a lifeline. People with diabetes create some of the most authentic, relatable jokes about diabetes because they come from lived reality. 

Humor isn’t the enemy. Lack of empathy is.

But when someone without diabetes cracks a joke about: 

• sugar 
• needles 
• carb counting 
• or the false notion that someone’s lifestyle “caused” their diabetes 

…it stops feeling like humor. 

That’s the difference between community and caricature. 

Leaning Into the Wobbliness 

Even as I write this, I do so with trepidation. Talking about humor and disability is nuanced because real life is nuanced. We’re constantly balancing the desire to lighten the load with the need to protect dignity. 

But I’ve come to believe that simply asking, “Is it okay to laugh?” shows empathy. It means we’re thinking about the impact, not just the intent. 

And maybe that’s the whole point. 

Conclusion: Choosing to Laugh With People 

When I picked Owen up later that day, we talked about humor—how it can help, how it can hurt, and how to tell the difference. Humor isn’t the enemy. Lack of empathy is. 

When humor comes from a place of honesty, lived experience, and connection, it disarms us. It builds bridges. It helps us breathe a little easier. 

So yes, it’s okay to laugh. 

As long as we’re laughing with, not laughing at, humor can be one of the most human things we share. 

Josh Blue is easily searchable online, but here’s the link to his homepage.