There. I said it.
Schadenfreude.

That scrumptious German word that sounds like someone dropped a box of consonants on the floor yet somehow managed to describe one of the most universal emotions on earth: the joy of watching the bad guy step on the Lego they left out themselves.

Not that we wish them pain.
No, of course not.
We were raised better.
We recycle, we use our turn signals, we say “excuse me” even when someone else bumps into us.

But there are moments. Magnificent, shimmering, morally questionable moments when someone who mistreated you finally gets a sip of their own bitter tea, and suddenly your inner child is like “OH REALLY? NOW HOW DOES THAT  TASTE?!”

And then the adult in the room (barely awake, sipping lukewarm coffee) whispers, Tsk tsk, we mustn’t gloat, and the child replies:
Watch me. And, thats whem I stick my tongue out at the evil person.

Because honestly?
Some people really do deserve to get theirs.

I know, I know, this is “unseemly.”
We’re supposed to take the high road. The high road, by the way, is exhausting. It’s narrow, it’s uphill both ways, and it’s always under construction.

Meanwhile the people who wronged you sped along the low road in a convertible, wind in their hair, no seat belts, tossing emotional debris out the window like they’re in a parade.

They felt nothing. No remorse, no pause, no second thought. They just did what they did, bulldozed right through your boundaries, and kept going.

And so when karma finally, finally catches up,  even if just a little, even if she’s late and wearing pajamas, you feel it.

That spark.
That hum.
That tiny internal choir warming up.

And you think “Is this… joy?”

No, no.
It’s schadenfreude.
The socially unacceptable cousin of satisfaction.

The emotion we aren’t supposed to name out loud because it makes us look petty, vindictive, and worst of all human.

But let’s be real. This feeling has purpose.

It says. “I saw what happened.
I know the truth.
I didn’t imagine that pain.”

It affirms that you weren’t crazy.
You weren’t dramatic.
You weren’t the villain in someone else’s narrative.

Sometimes schadenfreude is not about enjoying their downfall. It’s about recognizing that the universe noticed. That someone, somewhere, stamped the cosmic file “Received.”

And honestly? Sometimes it feels incredibly validating.

Sure, one part of you wants to bite your tongue, sit still, and meditate.
Another part which is your true, tired, righteous part, wants to stick your tongue out like a kid on a playground and shout

“SEE?! I KNEW IT! I TOLD YOU!”

But you won’t. Because you’re a good person. And my goodness, being a good person is exhausting.

But tonight? Just for a moment?
Let yourself feel that little flicker of satisfaction. You don’t have to act on it. You don’t have to post about it. You don’t have to revel in someone’s pain.

Just acknowledge your own healing. Your own truth.
Your own hard-earned clarity.

Because schadenfreude, at its core, is simply the psyche whispering
“You weren’t wrong. You weren’t alone. And you deserved better.”

And that?
That’s not unseemly.
That’s honest.