Can’t You Take a Joke? Where Your Energy Flows, Your Practice Grows
“I was only joking. Can’t you take a joke?”
We’ve all heard it before—sometimes directed at us, sometimes in conversations around us. But what does this phrase really do? Rather than opening dialogue, it shuts it down. It shifts responsibility from the sender to the receiver, dismissing feelings and avoiding accountability.
Humor is essential for joy—a medicine for the soul that strengthens bonds and eases stress. Laughter connects us, lightens burdens, and reminds us of our shared humanity. Yet, when misused, humour can create division, inflict harm, and reinforce exclusion.
Psychologist Rod Martin identifies four styles:
Affiliative & Self-Enhancing: Foster connection, resilience and positivity.
Aggressive & Self-Defeating: Can belittle, exclude, or erode self-esteem.
Conversational humor and "canned" jokes foster connection, but "taking the piss"—mocking under the guise of jest—can blur the line between playfulness and insult.(Kotthoff, 2006) Context and intent determine whether humor heals or harms, unites or alienates.
Humour, Boundaries & Energy
This is where Brahmacharya (moderation) and Svadhyaya (self-study) become essential. Where do we place our energy in these moments? Do we keep explaining our boundaries to those who refuse to respect them? Or do we redirect our energy toward spaces and relationships that nourish us?
As Yoga Australia teachers, our professional code of conduct is guided by principles drawn from both Patanjali’s Yoga Sutras and modern knowledge on accessibility and inclusivity. These frameworks are accessible to everyone and provide practical moral codes for how we engage in daily life—as householders, yogis, teachers, friends, and colleagues. How we show up, where our energy flows, and with what intentions can either support our practice (on and off the mat) or hinder it.
Hence, our themed mantra during this season of Bunuru, “Where our Energy Flows, Our Practice Grows”
At the core of human existence is a simple truth: we need each other. We need friendships, community, and connection. But we also need healthy relationships—ones that support growth, where we can be vulnerable, seen, and heard with mutual reciprocity. In Belonging: Remembering Ourselves Home, Toko-pa Turner speaks to the deep human longing to belong, not just socially, but soulfully—to ourselves, to each other, and to the greater web of life. She reminds us that true belonging is not about fitting in but about being accepted in our wholeness.
In authentic connection, mistakes can be made, but accountability allows for rupture, repair, and deeper trust. As Turner writes, “To truly belong, we must risk being seen for who we really are.” This means embracing the discomfort of honesty, allowing space for both our flaws and our beauty to coexist within relationships built on reciprocity.
Yet, not everyone can meet us where we are. Roshi Joan Halifax’s teaching of "a strong back, soft front" reminds us to navigate these interactions with both compassion and strength. Our soft front allows us to recognize the suffering of others, while our strong back ensures that we set healthy boundaries, protecting ourselves from self-sabotaging behaviours.
Not Every Interaction Requires a Reaction
Not every interaction requires a reaction. Some people genuinely seek to grow, while others use deflection as a shield. Through self-study, we learn when to engage and when to let go—when to speak and when to conserve our energy.
As I am writing this, where I live we are in the season of Bunuru, on the sacred Whadjuck Noongar boodja. Bunuru reminds us that where we direct our energy, our practice—our relationships, our self-worth, our growth—flourishes. It is a time to reflect on whether we are nurturing what sustains us or draining ourselves in spaces where our values are disregarded.
Your energy is precious. Let it flow where it is honored.
