The Roles We Play Without Meaning To

Triangle and Concertina, from the Musical Instruments series (N121) - W. Duke Sons & Co, 1888

---

Out here in the countryside, I’ve learned a lot about cycles — seasons, moods, slugs. But the one I see most often — in myself, in clients, in everyone — is the one we dance through in our relationships.

A triangle, no less.

And not the kind you see in Open House.

This one has sharp corners.

It starts innocently enough.

You’re tired.

Someone’s snappy.

Or sad.

Or needy.

You step in to help.

You want to be kind.

But, somehow, it all goes wrong.

Suddenly you feel blamed.

Or they withdraw.

Or they shout.

Maybe you explode.

Maybe you crumble.

Maybe you both do.

And now no one’s talking.

Or you're talking too much,

but not really saying anything.

The Drama Triangle is an old psychological model from the 60s, but honestly, it feels like it’s been around since Cain and Abel. It says this — there are three roles we fall into when emotions get sticky: The Rescuer, The Victim, and The Persecutor. I like to think of them as costumes we didn’t realise we put on until someone starts crying, shouting, or ghosting.

The Rescuer wants to help.

Fix.

Soothe.

But often ends up feeling resentful when their effort isn’t received with fanfare.

Because the effort isn't really about the other person, deep down.

The Victim feels powerless, misunderstood, hard done by.

But also quietly safe in their helplessness.

The Persecutor lashes out,

blames,

controls.

Often not out of cruelty, but fear and a deep sense of being unseen or unsafe.

Here’s the twist: you can play all three in a single afternoon.

Even in a single conversation.

Especially during a family Christmas.

I’ve been all of them at some point.

Still am, sometimes.

That’s why I don’t write this from a pedestal.

I write it from a cottage with muddy boots by the door, a brew that’s gone cold, and the humbling clarity that comes from having completely misread a situation more than once.

So why do we do it?

Because it’s familiar. Often, these roles are echoes of childhood dynamics —

playing nurse to a sad parent,

shrinking around a critical adult,

or learning that being useful was the only way to get 'love'.

These roles become survival strategies.

But they’re also cages.

Here’s what I’ve learned, through therapy, firelight ruminations, and many trials by text message: you don’t have to play.

You can listen without fixing.

You can feel hurt without retaliating.

You can stand next to someone in their struggle without rushing in to save them.

You can even walk away, with kindness, if someone keeps casting you in a role you didn't audition for.

It’s not easy.

Sometimes it feels like letting the whole garden go wild because you can’t save every flower.

But,

eventually,

something more honest begins to grow.

When you feel pulled in, pause.

Ask: what role am I stepping into here?

Instead of fixing, try:

“What do you need from me right now?”

Instead of blaming, try:

“That really hurt. I don’t know what to do with that.”

Instead of falling into helplessness, ask:

“What’s one small thing I can do?”

We don't need to be perfect.

We just need to be conscious.

The Drama Triangle can help you walk the long way home with your flask of tea and your dignity.

And when you do, you’ll notice —

there’s a whole life waiting on the outside of the triangle.

Quieter, kinder, and far less dramatic.