Rolling for Connection

Photo by Marko Blažević on Unsplash

How TTRPGs Help Us Rewrite the Script on Anxiety and Trauma

As an Integrative Practitioner with a Transactional Analysis lens and a TTRPG gamer, Game Master, Geek Therapist and fellow geek, I spend a lot of time thinking about the stories we tell. In therapy, we often talk about “life stories” or “scripts”, that unconscious storylines we formed as children to make sense of our early experiences. In gaming, we talk about “campaigns” and “character arcs.”

Over the years, sitting both at therapy chairs, both ends, and game tables, I’ve realised something simple and radical: they’re not as different as they look.

For people living with social anxiety, neurodivergence, or the heavy after‑effects of trauma, everyday life can feel like a game where everyone else got the rulebook, and you’re just trying to survive the round. Tabletop role‑playing games (TTRPGs) like Daggerheart, Pathfinder, Dungeons & Dragons, Monsterhearts, or Thirsty Sword Lesbians can become a kind of shared “practice space”, a laboratory where we can experiment with being human, find our people, and, sometimes, roll a natural 20 for our mental health.

The Alibi of the Character: A Gentle Hack for Social Anxiety

Social anxiety often grows from a younger part of us that learned it was safer to be perfect, quiet, or invisible. We scan constantly for signs that we’re being judged or rejected.

TTRPGs offer a clever workaround: psychological distance.

At the table, you aren’t “you” (the person who worries about saying the wrong thing); you are Grom the Barbarian or Sharr’Onn (because every fantasy character name needs an apostrophe), the Rogue. If Grom shouts at a bartender or Vex fails to pick a lock, they messed up, not you. That bit of distance lowers the emotional stakes. It makes it easier to experiment with speaking up, taking risks, or showing emotion.

I’ve seen people who struggle to make eye contact in everyday life command a whole table as a paladin or party leader. The character becomes a kind of emotional armour. It gives you an alibi to practice things like assertiveness, boundaries, and direct communication, without the same fear of “this will ruin my real life.”

Over time, some of that confidence can leak back into ordinary life. You might notice it becomes a little easier to say “no,” ask for help, or let yourself be seen.

The Neurodivergent Table: Why Clear Rules Can Feel Like Home

For many autistic or ADHD folks, the “real world” is full of unwritten rules, mixed messages, and sensory overload. It can feel like everyone else is following a script you never got.

Autism and Making the Implicit Explicit

One of the gifts of TTRPGs is that they make much of the social structure explicit. There are rules. There are turns. There are clear roles and shared goals. You know what a Charisma check does. You know how your abilities work. There’s a shared focus and a shared fantasy.

This can be a huge relief if you’re used to guessing what people want from you. Instead of small talk and subtle social cues, you have a concrete framework: we are here to tell a story together and solve problems in this world.

That shared focus often creates a powerful sense of “oh – you’re like me.” People connect over lore, mechanics, and characters, rather than masking to fit in. The game provides structure for social interaction, allowing an authentic connection to emerge.

ADHD and Stimulus Hunger

Many people with ADHD describe their brains as “interest‑based” rather than “importance‑based.” Boredom can feel painful; attention follows stimulation and novelty.

TTRPGs are rich in stimulus: dice rolls, tactical choices, maps, lore, character voices, jokes, and emotional moments. There’s always something to track or respond to. That level of engagement can make it much easier to stay present with other people, rather than drifting off or feeling like you’re constantly “failing” at attention.

The structure of a session – turns, scenes, breaks – can also support organisation and follow‑through. Instead of being shamed for “not focusing,” many ADHD players feel capable, creative, and valuable to the group.

Trauma, Rupture and Repair: The Safety of Simulation

Trauma traps us in looping expectations: people will leave, I will be blamed, no one comes when I’m in trouble, and I have no control. Even when life is different now, our bodies don’t always believe it.

TTRPGs can offer a kind of “rehearsal space” for safer experiences of rupture and repair. In any good campaign, things will go wrong. The dice will turn against you. A party member will make a wild decision. Conflicts will happen.

The difference is: in a well‑held game, you have tools and boundaries.

Many GMs now use safety tools like the X‑Card, Lines and Veils, or Script Change tools. These allow anyone at the table to pause, rewind, or skip material that is too much. That might sound small, but for someone with a history of feeling helpless, it can be huge.

Your nervous system gets to learn:

• I can say “stop.”

• People will listen.

• I can set limits around my own emotional safety.

On top of that, the story itself can quietly challenge old beliefs. If your inner script says, “I’m always alone in a crisis,” and your party’s cleric heals you, or your fighter steps between you and the dragon, your body gets an experience of being protected and cared for. It is not therapy in itself, but it can be a powerful corrective emotional experience inside a fantasy frame.

Finding Your Party: Belonging and the “Found Family” Table

Many queer, trans, and neurodivergent people grow up with a painful belief that they are “too much,” “too weird,” or simply unlovable. Isolation becomes the default.

A good TTRPG table can be an antidote.

Sharing snacks, in‑jokes, and long‑running campaigns meets a deep human need for recognition: that sense of “I see you, and I’m glad you’re here.” Every time someone cheers your critical hit, laughs at your terrible pun, or leans in during your emotional monologue, they’re sending a small but real message: you matter.

Over time, this can build a sense of “we”, a communal self. For many LGBTQ+ players, especially, game tables become genuine “found family.” They are often among the first places where people try out new names, pronouns, styles, or aspects of identity, and are not only tolerated but also celebrated.

The fantasy world becomes a safer container to explore who you are, and the people at the table become witnesses and allies in that exploration.

Rolling for Initiative in Your Own Life

You don’t have to be in formal therapy to benefit from this kind of play (though there are therapists and facilitators who specialise in therapeutic TTRPGs). Simply sitting down with others, agreeing to some basic ground rules, and telling a story together is already a quiet act of resistance against loneliness and shame.

It’s a way of looking at the old story you were handed about who you are, picking up the dice, and saying: I’d like to try a different ending.

So grab a character sheet. Find your party. And when you’re ready, roll for initiative.

Note: Dungeons & Dragons is a trademark of Wizards of the Coast. I am not affiliated with them. TTRPGs can be a helpful support for mental health, but they are not a substitute for professional care. If you’re dealing with trauma or significant distress, consider seeking support from a qualified mental health professional.