Some time ago, I was looking for material to prepare a talk on the topic of being colleagues and psychological safety, and I came across this term, schadenfreude, which struck me, on the one hand because, with some embarrassment, I recognized some situations I had experienced in the past, and on the other because the link with psychological safety seemed clear to me.
Have you ever caught yourself feeling a tiny uptick of relief or – even if you cringe admitting it – a little pleasure when a colleague who always nails it makes a misstep in a meeting?
Or when the project team everyone counts on shuffles at the finish line?
Welcome to the world of schadenfreude—that faint, slightly uncomfortable joy at another’s misfortune.
We don’t need to pretend it doesn’t happen to us…Research confirms that schadenfreude is deeply rooted in our social wiring: when someone in our peer group stumbles, it can momentarily boost our own sense of status or self-worth. For example, experiments found that when our self-evaluation is under threat, schadenfreude intensifies.
If we look at Schadenfreude through Lacan’s lens, we discover that this guilty little pleasure has deep roots. According to the mirror stage theory, our identity is born in the reflected gaze of the other: we recognise ourselves, but we also compare ourselves, and we feel a little flawed.
As adults, when others stumble, something in us relaxes, as if, for a moment, our mirror stopped reflecting their perfection and became human again. It is a way (not always noble, but very human) to regain balance in the game of comparisons and rivalries that has always been part of us.
This inclination shows up most readily in environments where psychological safety is weak.
From competition to connection
In highly competitive environments, where recognition, ranking, or performance metrics dominate, schadenfreude finds a fertile ground. When our value feels tied to “being the one who succeeds,” seeing another fail can feel like “at least it’s not me”.
Without a sense of security, mistakes are seen not for their learning potential but as something to be ashamed of, to be hidden, something that causes embarrassment. They tend to be interpreted as the “fault” of the individual and not processed in a systemic way, highlighting the chain of events, shared responsibility and impacts.
Yet over time, that feeling builds walls, not bridges. Every subtle “ho-ho” in our mind becomes a tiny brick in the barrier between colleagues. And when no one feels safe to show vulnerability, to admit a mistake or ask a “dumb” question, we stop learning together.
As Amy Edmondson reminds us, psychological safety is not about being nice, it’s about creating a space where people feel safe to bring their full selves, including the flaws and the “uh-ohs”. In that space, schadenfreude doesn’t vanish, but it loses its power.
From rivalry to curiosity
Feeling a little schadenfreude doesn’t mean you’re a bad person, it means you’re human. But we can choose what to do with that feeling.
When you notice that tiny thrill at someone else’s drop-step, you might ask yourself:
– What’s happening for me right now?
– What need or fear is this stirring in me?
– How might I shift from “they slipped, so I win” to “I wonder what I can learn from this together”?
That shift is a small act of psychological regeneration. Every time we choose curiosity over quiet cheer for a fall, we help build environments where learning, vulnerability and growth replace silently wishing someone else fails.
Schadenfreude reminds us that we’re vulnerable to comparison, status, and the comfort that comes when someone else falters. But it also shows us that there is a choice: we can keep competing to shine; or we can lean into connection and mutual growth.