Psychological Filtering: Making Room for Joy

Let’s imagine a woman at a pottery class making a bird that is difficult to assign to any known species. Its beak is too large, one wing sits lower than the other, yet its expression is thoroughly confident. She turns the figure, notices this mismatch and laughs. She wants to show it to the person beside her and give the bird a name. For a few minutes nobody is proving anything, and the class has already become something worth leaving home for.

Then a familiar thought may arrive: “A grown woman, getting excited about something so silly.” The bird itself has not changed in that second. Her relationship with her enjoyment has changed: it seems to have been called in for inspection and asked to demonstrate its usefulness. Small episodes like this can reveal how many other people’s demands we have come to treat as our own.

Here, psychological filtering means making a habit of examining what reaches us: messages, judgements, advice, jokes and our own first thoughts. What describes reality? What helps us act? What can we disagree with? This kind of checking leaves more attention and time for work, relationships, rest and activities we genuinely enjoy.

A teacher’s comment, “That wing needs strengthening or it may break during drying,” offers something usable. It identifies a specific issue and a possible action. “You haven’t got any talent anyway” provides much less practical help. You can ask what specifically needs work and separately decide whether you want to continue a conversation in that tone. Sometimes useful information can be retained while a sweeping verdict about your worth is declined.

The filter works in the other direction too. When someone close to you says that your joke hurt them, there is a reason to stop and listen to the details. Calling every uncomfortable piece of feedback “toxic” would be a convenient way to avoid checking anything further. Living relationships need room for learning something about ourselves that we may not initially like.

You can love music and sing unremarkably, enjoy snow, become absorbed in choosing a pencil colour or invent funny names for birds. This enjoyment can have a simple continuation: you want to try again, invite someone along or look more closely at the world. It does not have to become an achievement or a social media post.

In transactional analysis, the language of the Child offers a way to discuss playful interest and spontaneity. In everyday speech we often call this the inner child. Here it refers to a way of experiencing and acting available to an adult who can also take circumstances into account. A short explanation of the model appears in the compilation of TA core concepts.

Spontaneity can look quiet: entering an unfamiliar bookshop, dancing at home or changing a usual walking route. Sometimes it is noisy and funny. What matters more is whether people remain free to join in and stop. If a friend is tired, a game can end without accusing them of ruining everyone’s mood. If you want an expensive trip, you can discuss that desire and find a manageable version of it.

After the class, the woman needs to wash her hands, collect her belongings and go home. Those actions are entirely compatible with enjoying her peculiar bird. A caring approach to herself helps arrange the activity so that she has enough energy and money for it. Her interest then has a place in real life, rather than depending on a rare moment when everything else is finally finished.

Self-evaluation can be useful too. “I spent more than I planned today; I’ll postpone the next purchase” allows something to change. If a long speech about personal worthlessness follows, the practical issue soon gets lost. Notice what comes next: does a decision emerge, or does more time disappear into self-humiliation? There is more on this distinction in the article about the inner critic.

Claude Steiner used the provocative historical term Pig Parent for destructive internal pressure, discussed in his article The Pig Parent. Here it names a theoretical concept, not a description of parents or people around us. For personal observation, it is enough to notice familiar messages such as “Keep your head down,” “Nobody will choose you anyway,” or “You got what you deserved.”

This critic can appear to smile approvingly when someone abandons an important wish again: “Well, at least you didn’t embarrass yourself.” Relief arrives because there is no longer a need to take a risk or wait for judgement. Yet the interest itself has not disappeared, and later another abandoned attempt may feel painful. It helps to ask what exactly brought pleasure in that moment and where it leads next.

Let’s imagine another situation. A colleague presents a proposal badly. Someone in the group chat collects his slips of the tongue into a funny list, and others add their own. For a few minutes, personal insecurity recedes: someone nearby now looks worse. This amusement can support superiority and belonging to the group while making the next attempt to speak up feel more dangerous.

People sometimes call this pleasure in someone else’s humiliation, or in giving up on themselves, “toxic joy.” That is an everyday expression. The episode itself provides more precision: what are people laughing at, can anyone object, and what happens to the person who has become the subject of the jokes? You can honestly notice a moment of schadenfreude and decide not to continue the public ridicule.

In transactional analysis, a gallows transaction describes an exchange in which shared laughter reinforces harmful script behaviour. Steiner discusses it in The Heart of the Matter. The focus is on what happens to the behaviour after the shared amusement.

In an everyday example, someone might once again describe redoing other people’s work without pay until three in the morning: “I’m the resident fool. You don’t have to pay me.” Everyone laughs, a familiar role receives recognition, and the question of payment disappears again. If this keeps happening, the joke may help everyone avoid an uncomfortable conversation. This possible mechanism deserves attention before choosing a psychological label.

A friend’s response can preserve warmth and change what follows: “The wording is funny, but I’m sorry you lost sleep again. Would you like to think together about discussing payment?” There is room for humour and for the serious part of the story. Nervous laughter, an embarrassed smile and dark humour do not by themselves establish agreement with harm. People laugh for different reasons; circumstances, repetition and the freedom to respond help clarify the meaning.

Think of a recent funny conversation. Did you want to stay with those people afterwards? Could you say “That feels unpleasant” and expect to be heard? Was it still possible to repair a mistake? The answers may be mixed: you enjoyed the joke, while one part of it hurt. That is already a sufficiently specific observation to discuss.

With gentle self-deprecating humour, someone can laugh about mixing up classrooms and still attend the next class. In habitual self-humiliation, a single mistake can quickly become proof that they do not belong anywhere. Filtering here means noticing the move from an event to a verdict and returning the actual situation to the conversation: “I went to the wrong address. I’ll check the timetable now.” Punishing yourself for every awkward joke is unnecessary too.

In the evening, write down one moment of genuine interest and one sentence that made you want to hide that interest. Beside it, note where the sentence came from, what facts it contains and what you are willing to do with it. You might keep a useful comment, ask for a different tone, leave a bullying group chat or agree on a little time for an activity you enjoy.

An ordinary notebook or the MriyaRun Emotional Intelligence Journal can provide space for this observation. If starting with words feels difficult, you can explore your response to an image on metaphorical cards about boundaries and permissions and record your own associations. The article on the psychology of humour looks more closely at supportive and hurtful humour.

This practice is a way to observe experience, not a test for a “healthy Child” or a “Pig Parent.” If self-humiliation has become constant or it is difficult to protect yourself from cruelty in relationships, seek support from a psychologist and people with whom you can speak openly. Your own joy becomes easier to recognise through experience: the bird is on the shelf, you want to return to the class, and you no longer need to prove that you are talented enough first.