The Laugh That Changes the Room

I laugh out loud. At least, that’s what they tell me. Honestly, the sound just leaps out of my throat before I can even decide to release it.

Because a Rememberer’s laugh isn’t meant to be small. It’s meant to ring out, to echo, to pull threads of memory back into the room.

The thing is— my laugh is always too much for people who prefer women to be quiet, bent, or halfway gone. And for a while I actually tried to make it smaller— I bit it back, softened the edges, tucked it behind my hand like the world would crumble if I let myself be too joyful.

But some women just aren’t designed for quiet— not in that way. Some of us carry laughter the way others carry lanterns: bright, brave, and impossible to hide.

And the truth is… my laugh does something I couldn’t understand before.

That’s why my son recognizes it instantly, smiling every single time like something ancient is moving through the air.

And the women in my family, they soften— something in them waking up to remember its original shape, their own fire.

My nieces, my beloved nieces— they light up like my joy is rearranging the air around us, speaking a language that they already know.

And maybe it does.

Because maybe.. just maybe.. my laugh has always been teaching— long before I even knew what or how or when.

And maybe every woman who hears it—every niece, cousin, daughter, friend— they receive a tiny inheritance, a tiny permission slip to stop shrinking, to stop dimming, to stop asking: “Am I too much?”

Because joy is not noise.

Joy is lineage.

Joy is instruction.

Joy is rebellion wrapped in a sound wave.

And I don’t guard my laughter anymore. I let it echo. I let it move. I let it open the room.

And every time it rises out of me, I feel something shift— in my body, in my family, in the women who watch me. As if God tucked a doorway in my throat and laughter is how it opens.

You see, some sounds don’t just belong to the moment. Some sounds belong to the women who are coming after you.

🌙 What the body knows

To the ones who learned to muffle their joy— your laugh is not too much. It’s the part of you that remembers freedom before you do.