För några månader sedan gjorde jag en video och skrev en artikel om rollspel för identitetssökande. Tänkte att någon kanske var intresserad av det ämnet. Klistrar in både videon och artikeln här nedan (kommer dock behöva dela upp den på två inlägg för att den är så lång). Nyfiken på vad ni har för tankar om ämnet.
EXPLORING IDENTITY THROUGH ROLEPLAYING
UNDERSTANDING TABLETOP ROLEPLAYING GAMES
With the release of Dungeons & Dragons in the early 70s, tabletop roleplaying games became part of popular culture. And in the decades since, we’ve seen a wild variety of games, worlds, and ways to play. At their core, these games are all about having fun with friends, but they also mix storytelling and gameplay in a unique way. There is a Game Master that weaves a narrative, and there are players bringing characters to life—it is like a sophisticated form of make-believe (Underwood, 2009; Fuist, 2012; Flournoy, 2018).
Tabletop roleplaying games are all about collaboration. You and your friends create and explore fictional worlds together, mostly by sitting at a table, talking, and throwing dice. Sure, you can play online, over text, or voice chat, but no matter how you play, it’s all about that shared experience. And this goes beyond just the game itself. You’ve got communities, fan sites, and creative spaces that let you connect with others who share your interests. Playing tabletop roleplaying games is a social hobby. They are the perfect gateway to finding friends, and they can be especially empowering for those who might be more introverted or anxious in everyday life (Goodall, 2021; Harris, 2021; Ilieva, 2023).
The games are important, but the people who play are even more so. Understanding why people play—and keep coming back—is just as important as understanding the games themselves. To understand how to use these games for self-exploration, we need to first understand why people want to play at all.
UNDERSTANDING THE PLAYER
Historically, tabletop roleplaying games were played mostly by dudes within same-gender friend groups during adolescence, so there’s no surprise that there weren’t many women around. But times are changing, and more people of all genders are now diving into the hobby (DeHart, 2008).
So, why do people start playing these games? Most of the time, someone pulls them in—maybe a friend says, “Hey, wanna play D&D?” Or they stumble upon it online or in a game shop. Sometimes, it’s pure creative curiosity. They’re drawn in by the idea of building worlds and telling stories (Coe, 2017).
But once you’re in, what keeps you coming back for more? For many, it’s the thrill of creative freedom. You get to use your imagination to shape entire worlds and craft epic stories, and that can be addictive. For others, it’s about exploring different aspects of themselves. Maybe you’re playing a character who’s like you, or maybe you’re trying on a totally different persona. Either way, it’s a chance to learn about yourself and others in a way that’s fun (Coe, 2017).
Another big reason is belonging. Tabletop roleplaying games give people a space to connect, interact, and just be part of something. It’s about finding a group where you feel included and safe. There’s also the appeal of escapism. Life can be stressful, and tabletop roleplaying games offer a mental break—a chance to step away from reality for a bit and immerse yourself in a different world. Finally, there’s personal improvement. You’re practicing things like social skills, problem-solving, and conflict resolution without even realizing it. It’s like a playground for your brain, giving you space to grow (Coe, 2017; Flournoy, 2018).
But the magic of tabletop roleplaying games isn’t just in who we are as players—it’s also in the roles we take on. Stepping into a character means navigating a whole new set of expectations, both in the game and in real life. To learn more about what this means, we need to dig into the concept of roles.
UNDERSTANDING ROLES
Consider the following scenario: if two friends are playing a tabletop roleplaying game and one steals an item from the other in the game, did they really steal from their friend? Well, it’s complicated. It all depends on how the players understand their roles in the game and in real life. In tabletop roleplaying games, the lines between the game world and the real world are constantly shifting. This means that the roles you play in-character can influence how you relate to each other out-of-character (Williams et al., 2018).
For example, one player might be a thief in the game world, stealing an item as part of their character’s role. Meanwhile, the other player might feel personally attached to that fictional item, even though it’s just part of the story. This isn’t just about what happens in the game—it’s about how those game roles bleed into the real world. Players are constantly juggling multiple roles, both in and out of the game, and that can get quite complex.
Sociologist Erving Goffman famously compared social interactions to a theater performance. He argued that we all play roles based on what society expects of us, and these roles aren’t just superficial—they’re deeply tied to who we are. Some roles are handed to us, like becoming an aunt or an uncle, while others we choose, like being a student or a gamer. How we perform these roles is influenced by our cultural upbringing, which shapes how we act and interact with others. People can be said to navigate multiple roles at the same time, like being an aunt or an uncle, black or white, queer or straight, American or European. All these roles and their social contexts form a spectrum of identities. Playing a tabletop roleplaying game, in a way, adds another layer to this, giving us a stage to enact new roles (DeHart, 2008).
Before the dice start rolling, players go through a kind of psychological warm-up, where they assess the game’s theme, set boundaries, and agree on a kind of social contract with each other. This marks the shift from the “real world” to the “game space.” And when you’re in that game space, you know you’re playing a role. Maybe you’re playing a villain. That’s okay in the game—but obviously, it wouldn’t be in real life (Kawitzky, 2020).
In tabletop roleplaying games, players move between three main frames of focus: there’s the real world, where you’re just yourself; the game context, which is all about following the game’s rules; and the narrative, where you’re fully in character, living out the story. Props, cues, and even just the vibe around the table can help players know which frame they’re in. But sometimes, the lines blur, and you might see people get mixed up, hiding behind game rules or confusing their in-game actions with real-world consequences. This is like a liminal space where your real-world self overlaps with your in-game persona. It’s like when you find yourself speaking as your character without even thinking about it, or shedding tears when they achieve a decisive goal. You’re in the liminal space between frames, the roles touching like waves against a shore (Flournoy, 2018; Williams et al., 2018).
Roles are important to understand on the path to self-exploration, but it wouldn’t have any impact without immersion—the feeling of truly becoming your character and seeing the world through their eyes. But what is immersion really, and why does it feel real?
UNDERSTANDING IMMERSION
When you play a tabletop roleplaying game, your character isn’t just a name on a sheet—it’s your bridge to the game world. It’s how you, as the player, connect with the story, and it’s the medium that pulls you into the imaginary space. You’ve probably heard the phrase “getting into character,” right? That’s exactly what’s happening here (Harris, 2021).
Think about it like this: when you put on a VR headset, you’re thrown into a virtual world—you see it, hear it, and feel like you’re really there. It’s all about the first-person perspective and those immersive sensations that trick your brain into “being there.” But here’s the cool part: your brain doesn’t need all that fancy tech to create an immersive experience. Whether you’re reading a book, watching a movie, or playing a tabletop roleplaying game, your brain builds a mental model of that fictional space. The deeper you connect with that model, the more real space fades from the front of your consciousness, and your focus shifts towards mental space (Harris, 2021).
But here’s the catch: if the game feels too easy or boring, it’s hard to stay in that mental zone. Players want a balance of rewards and challenge; they want to step in and out of their comfort zone. It’s like a dance between feeling safe and taking risks. And it’s during these moments, where you test or push past your boundaries, that you can level up your real self. You start to see yourself and the world in new ways, and you take those experiences from the game and carry them into real life. It’s like translating fantasy into reality (Harris, 2021).
Play is, in many ways, the ultimate form of immersion. It’s like rehearsing for real life; trying out new roles, testing boundaries, and learning new skills in a safe space. When you play, you’re not just pretending; you’re evolving. And sometimes, the line between what’s real and what’s imagined isn’t all that clear. Take live-action roleplaying, for example: if someone plays a skilled swordsman, they might not become a master swordsman in real life, but they’re still learning something valuable—maybe confidence, coordination, or even just a sense of belonging. And that has real-world impact (Harris, 2021).
When we add the concepts of roles, frames, and immersion together, we start to uncover the true impact that roleplaying games can have on us. Playing a character isn’t just a performance, it’s a way to explore who we are and who we might become—and stories aren’t just entertainment, they shape how we see the world and ourselves in it.
UNDERSTANDING IDENTITY
There are countless theories about the concept of self and the creation of identity, and some of them tie into roleplaying in interesting ways. Take Herbert Mead’s idea of the generalized other. It’s kind of like having an invisible audience in your head; a mix of societal attitudes and expectations that influence how you see yourself. When you create a character that pushes against social norms, you’re not just playing pretend; you’re negotiating with those ingrained social expectations, testing boundaries both in and out of the game (Harris, 2021).
Then there’s Pierre Bourdieu’s concept of habitus. The idea is that your habits, skills, and perspectives are shaped by your upbringing, your education, and the social world around you. It’s personal, but also deeply social. So, when you make a character, you might unintentionally sprinkle in some of your own experiences, like giving your rogue a rebellious streak that might touch upon your own struggles with authority (Harris, 2021).
Psychologist Lev Vygotsky argued that learning isn’t something we do in isolation—it’s social. We learn from our interactions and the cultural tools around us, like language, symbols, and storytelling. He used the term scaffolding, which is basically the support we get from others when tackling something new. When you’re roleplaying, you’re in this interactive learning space, where the group you play with helps you dive into your character’s perspective. Each conversation and choice you make in-game shapes not just your character but also how you see the world (Harris, 2021).
Finally, there’s the idea of narrative identity, which suggests that the stories we tell about ourselves are constantly shaping who we are—and that includes the stories of our characters. Roleplaying isn’t just a fun hobby; it’s a way to explore different sides of yourself, one adventure at a time. When you look back on those in-game moments and share them with others, you’re actually piecing together parts of your own identity, blending your lived experiences with the ones you’ve created in the game (Harris, 2021).
These are just a few examples of how theories like these can be tied to the roleplaying game experience. I found a nice allegory in one of the studies used as reference for this article. They likened a person’s identity to a 20-sided die—each side shows a different aspect of who you are, and what’s visible depends on the roll, the context, and the perspective of whoever’s looking (Harris, 2021).
All these ideas aren’t just theories—they can be found in real experiences. One roleplayer said that the games gave them a unique way to connect with others, and it was through play that they found a space to express their queer identity to their partner; something they struggled with in other places. For them, the magic of roleplaying lies in those real, vulnerable moments where everyone is deeply connected to the story and to each other. Another player felt that the real magic of roleplaying was in the sense of connection, where everyone’s energy feeds off each other; creating something truly special. For some, roleplaying even became a way to explore parts of themselves that felt scary to embrace in real life. One player described the best parts of tabletop roleplaying games as trying out aspects of themselves and gauging others’ reactions, gradually feeling confident enough to bring those parts into their real life. For them, playing a character was like giving themselves permission to be who they truly were (Harris, 2021).
What all these stories have in common is that the magic of roleplaying happens in those shared moments of play, where players create stories together, explore new possibilities, and see new potentials in themselves. It’s about experimenting, growing, and discovering things about who you are that you might never have seen otherwise (Harris, 2021).
UNDERSTANDING STIGMA
But while tabletop roleplaying games offer incredible opportunities for self-exploration, they haven’t always been welcomed by society. Stigma has long shadowed the gaming community, affecting how players are perceived and sometimes how they perceive themselves. This is a hobby that can be difficult to explain to people who haven’t played, because it is something you really must experience for yourself. To some, it might seem childish, weird, or just a waste of time. There’s also the stigma of adults doing things that don’t fit the “traditional” mold of having your life together—things like contributing to society, building a career, or starting a family. And when people feel judged for their interests, they often retreat, keeping things private (DeHart, 2008).
Stigma leads to isolation. There’s social isolation, where someone lacks meaningful relationships, and then there’s societal isolation, where people feel shut out of broader cultural events, employment, or other activities. These often go hand-in-hand; people who feel excluded from society usually have smaller support networks, and this can impact their health, self-esteem, and overall quality of life (Goodall, 2021).
It’s also important to distinguish between social isolation and social exclusion. Isolation is about not participating, while exclusion is about being prevented from participating. Many who experience exclusion deal with internal struggles like feeling “socially awkward,” or they’ve faced external challenges like bullying. Some may be neurodiverse to a degree where social interaction is tricky, especially with neurotypical people. But here’s where roleplaying games shine. These games create a space where people can practice social skills, learn the rules of interaction, and gradually build the confidence to engage with others. It’s helped people who’ve felt left out or judged find their footing in social situations, from being comfortable with small talk to understanding facial expressions and even finding friends (Goodall, 2021).
Tabletop roleplaying games also give players a chance to explore their own biases, ideas, and preconceptions in a safe environment. Research shows that roleplaying can affect behavior, emotional well-being, and even how we handle emotions like anger—directing them towards fictional scenarios rather than real-world conflicts. It’s like a sandbox for your psyche, where you can try on different personas and see what fits. For example, playing a confident character when you’re anxious in real life can be a way to have a dialogue with yourself about who you are and who you want to be. But the impact happens when players reflect on these experiences. At the end of the day, you’re the one who decides what these new perspectives mean for yourself and your life (Flournoy, 2018).
EXPLORING IDENTITY THROUGH ROLEPLAYING
UNDERSTANDING TABLETOP ROLEPLAYING GAMES
With the release of Dungeons & Dragons in the early 70s, tabletop roleplaying games became part of popular culture. And in the decades since, we’ve seen a wild variety of games, worlds, and ways to play. At their core, these games are all about having fun with friends, but they also mix storytelling and gameplay in a unique way. There is a Game Master that weaves a narrative, and there are players bringing characters to life—it is like a sophisticated form of make-believe (Underwood, 2009; Fuist, 2012; Flournoy, 2018).
Tabletop roleplaying games are all about collaboration. You and your friends create and explore fictional worlds together, mostly by sitting at a table, talking, and throwing dice. Sure, you can play online, over text, or voice chat, but no matter how you play, it’s all about that shared experience. And this goes beyond just the game itself. You’ve got communities, fan sites, and creative spaces that let you connect with others who share your interests. Playing tabletop roleplaying games is a social hobby. They are the perfect gateway to finding friends, and they can be especially empowering for those who might be more introverted or anxious in everyday life (Goodall, 2021; Harris, 2021; Ilieva, 2023).
The games are important, but the people who play are even more so. Understanding why people play—and keep coming back—is just as important as understanding the games themselves. To understand how to use these games for self-exploration, we need to first understand why people want to play at all.
UNDERSTANDING THE PLAYER
Historically, tabletop roleplaying games were played mostly by dudes within same-gender friend groups during adolescence, so there’s no surprise that there weren’t many women around. But times are changing, and more people of all genders are now diving into the hobby (DeHart, 2008).
So, why do people start playing these games? Most of the time, someone pulls them in—maybe a friend says, “Hey, wanna play D&D?” Or they stumble upon it online or in a game shop. Sometimes, it’s pure creative curiosity. They’re drawn in by the idea of building worlds and telling stories (Coe, 2017).
But once you’re in, what keeps you coming back for more? For many, it’s the thrill of creative freedom. You get to use your imagination to shape entire worlds and craft epic stories, and that can be addictive. For others, it’s about exploring different aspects of themselves. Maybe you’re playing a character who’s like you, or maybe you’re trying on a totally different persona. Either way, it’s a chance to learn about yourself and others in a way that’s fun (Coe, 2017).
Another big reason is belonging. Tabletop roleplaying games give people a space to connect, interact, and just be part of something. It’s about finding a group where you feel included and safe. There’s also the appeal of escapism. Life can be stressful, and tabletop roleplaying games offer a mental break—a chance to step away from reality for a bit and immerse yourself in a different world. Finally, there’s personal improvement. You’re practicing things like social skills, problem-solving, and conflict resolution without even realizing it. It’s like a playground for your brain, giving you space to grow (Coe, 2017; Flournoy, 2018).
But the magic of tabletop roleplaying games isn’t just in who we are as players—it’s also in the roles we take on. Stepping into a character means navigating a whole new set of expectations, both in the game and in real life. To learn more about what this means, we need to dig into the concept of roles.
UNDERSTANDING ROLES
Consider the following scenario: if two friends are playing a tabletop roleplaying game and one steals an item from the other in the game, did they really steal from their friend? Well, it’s complicated. It all depends on how the players understand their roles in the game and in real life. In tabletop roleplaying games, the lines between the game world and the real world are constantly shifting. This means that the roles you play in-character can influence how you relate to each other out-of-character (Williams et al., 2018).
For example, one player might be a thief in the game world, stealing an item as part of their character’s role. Meanwhile, the other player might feel personally attached to that fictional item, even though it’s just part of the story. This isn’t just about what happens in the game—it’s about how those game roles bleed into the real world. Players are constantly juggling multiple roles, both in and out of the game, and that can get quite complex.
Sociologist Erving Goffman famously compared social interactions to a theater performance. He argued that we all play roles based on what society expects of us, and these roles aren’t just superficial—they’re deeply tied to who we are. Some roles are handed to us, like becoming an aunt or an uncle, while others we choose, like being a student or a gamer. How we perform these roles is influenced by our cultural upbringing, which shapes how we act and interact with others. People can be said to navigate multiple roles at the same time, like being an aunt or an uncle, black or white, queer or straight, American or European. All these roles and their social contexts form a spectrum of identities. Playing a tabletop roleplaying game, in a way, adds another layer to this, giving us a stage to enact new roles (DeHart, 2008).
Before the dice start rolling, players go through a kind of psychological warm-up, where they assess the game’s theme, set boundaries, and agree on a kind of social contract with each other. This marks the shift from the “real world” to the “game space.” And when you’re in that game space, you know you’re playing a role. Maybe you’re playing a villain. That’s okay in the game—but obviously, it wouldn’t be in real life (Kawitzky, 2020).
In tabletop roleplaying games, players move between three main frames of focus: there’s the real world, where you’re just yourself; the game context, which is all about following the game’s rules; and the narrative, where you’re fully in character, living out the story. Props, cues, and even just the vibe around the table can help players know which frame they’re in. But sometimes, the lines blur, and you might see people get mixed up, hiding behind game rules or confusing their in-game actions with real-world consequences. This is like a liminal space where your real-world self overlaps with your in-game persona. It’s like when you find yourself speaking as your character without even thinking about it, or shedding tears when they achieve a decisive goal. You’re in the liminal space between frames, the roles touching like waves against a shore (Flournoy, 2018; Williams et al., 2018).
Roles are important to understand on the path to self-exploration, but it wouldn’t have any impact without immersion—the feeling of truly becoming your character and seeing the world through their eyes. But what is immersion really, and why does it feel real?
UNDERSTANDING IMMERSION
When you play a tabletop roleplaying game, your character isn’t just a name on a sheet—it’s your bridge to the game world. It’s how you, as the player, connect with the story, and it’s the medium that pulls you into the imaginary space. You’ve probably heard the phrase “getting into character,” right? That’s exactly what’s happening here (Harris, 2021).
Think about it like this: when you put on a VR headset, you’re thrown into a virtual world—you see it, hear it, and feel like you’re really there. It’s all about the first-person perspective and those immersive sensations that trick your brain into “being there.” But here’s the cool part: your brain doesn’t need all that fancy tech to create an immersive experience. Whether you’re reading a book, watching a movie, or playing a tabletop roleplaying game, your brain builds a mental model of that fictional space. The deeper you connect with that model, the more real space fades from the front of your consciousness, and your focus shifts towards mental space (Harris, 2021).
But here’s the catch: if the game feels too easy or boring, it’s hard to stay in that mental zone. Players want a balance of rewards and challenge; they want to step in and out of their comfort zone. It’s like a dance between feeling safe and taking risks. And it’s during these moments, where you test or push past your boundaries, that you can level up your real self. You start to see yourself and the world in new ways, and you take those experiences from the game and carry them into real life. It’s like translating fantasy into reality (Harris, 2021).
Play is, in many ways, the ultimate form of immersion. It’s like rehearsing for real life; trying out new roles, testing boundaries, and learning new skills in a safe space. When you play, you’re not just pretending; you’re evolving. And sometimes, the line between what’s real and what’s imagined isn’t all that clear. Take live-action roleplaying, for example: if someone plays a skilled swordsman, they might not become a master swordsman in real life, but they’re still learning something valuable—maybe confidence, coordination, or even just a sense of belonging. And that has real-world impact (Harris, 2021).
When we add the concepts of roles, frames, and immersion together, we start to uncover the true impact that roleplaying games can have on us. Playing a character isn’t just a performance, it’s a way to explore who we are and who we might become—and stories aren’t just entertainment, they shape how we see the world and ourselves in it.
UNDERSTANDING IDENTITY
There are countless theories about the concept of self and the creation of identity, and some of them tie into roleplaying in interesting ways. Take Herbert Mead’s idea of the generalized other. It’s kind of like having an invisible audience in your head; a mix of societal attitudes and expectations that influence how you see yourself. When you create a character that pushes against social norms, you’re not just playing pretend; you’re negotiating with those ingrained social expectations, testing boundaries both in and out of the game (Harris, 2021).
Then there’s Pierre Bourdieu’s concept of habitus. The idea is that your habits, skills, and perspectives are shaped by your upbringing, your education, and the social world around you. It’s personal, but also deeply social. So, when you make a character, you might unintentionally sprinkle in some of your own experiences, like giving your rogue a rebellious streak that might touch upon your own struggles with authority (Harris, 2021).
Psychologist Lev Vygotsky argued that learning isn’t something we do in isolation—it’s social. We learn from our interactions and the cultural tools around us, like language, symbols, and storytelling. He used the term scaffolding, which is basically the support we get from others when tackling something new. When you’re roleplaying, you’re in this interactive learning space, where the group you play with helps you dive into your character’s perspective. Each conversation and choice you make in-game shapes not just your character but also how you see the world (Harris, 2021).
Finally, there’s the idea of narrative identity, which suggests that the stories we tell about ourselves are constantly shaping who we are—and that includes the stories of our characters. Roleplaying isn’t just a fun hobby; it’s a way to explore different sides of yourself, one adventure at a time. When you look back on those in-game moments and share them with others, you’re actually piecing together parts of your own identity, blending your lived experiences with the ones you’ve created in the game (Harris, 2021).
These are just a few examples of how theories like these can be tied to the roleplaying game experience. I found a nice allegory in one of the studies used as reference for this article. They likened a person’s identity to a 20-sided die—each side shows a different aspect of who you are, and what’s visible depends on the roll, the context, and the perspective of whoever’s looking (Harris, 2021).
All these ideas aren’t just theories—they can be found in real experiences. One roleplayer said that the games gave them a unique way to connect with others, and it was through play that they found a space to express their queer identity to their partner; something they struggled with in other places. For them, the magic of roleplaying lies in those real, vulnerable moments where everyone is deeply connected to the story and to each other. Another player felt that the real magic of roleplaying was in the sense of connection, where everyone’s energy feeds off each other; creating something truly special. For some, roleplaying even became a way to explore parts of themselves that felt scary to embrace in real life. One player described the best parts of tabletop roleplaying games as trying out aspects of themselves and gauging others’ reactions, gradually feeling confident enough to bring those parts into their real life. For them, playing a character was like giving themselves permission to be who they truly were (Harris, 2021).
What all these stories have in common is that the magic of roleplaying happens in those shared moments of play, where players create stories together, explore new possibilities, and see new potentials in themselves. It’s about experimenting, growing, and discovering things about who you are that you might never have seen otherwise (Harris, 2021).
UNDERSTANDING STIGMA
But while tabletop roleplaying games offer incredible opportunities for self-exploration, they haven’t always been welcomed by society. Stigma has long shadowed the gaming community, affecting how players are perceived and sometimes how they perceive themselves. This is a hobby that can be difficult to explain to people who haven’t played, because it is something you really must experience for yourself. To some, it might seem childish, weird, or just a waste of time. There’s also the stigma of adults doing things that don’t fit the “traditional” mold of having your life together—things like contributing to society, building a career, or starting a family. And when people feel judged for their interests, they often retreat, keeping things private (DeHart, 2008).
Stigma leads to isolation. There’s social isolation, where someone lacks meaningful relationships, and then there’s societal isolation, where people feel shut out of broader cultural events, employment, or other activities. These often go hand-in-hand; people who feel excluded from society usually have smaller support networks, and this can impact their health, self-esteem, and overall quality of life (Goodall, 2021).
It’s also important to distinguish between social isolation and social exclusion. Isolation is about not participating, while exclusion is about being prevented from participating. Many who experience exclusion deal with internal struggles like feeling “socially awkward,” or they’ve faced external challenges like bullying. Some may be neurodiverse to a degree where social interaction is tricky, especially with neurotypical people. But here’s where roleplaying games shine. These games create a space where people can practice social skills, learn the rules of interaction, and gradually build the confidence to engage with others. It’s helped people who’ve felt left out or judged find their footing in social situations, from being comfortable with small talk to understanding facial expressions and even finding friends (Goodall, 2021).
Tabletop roleplaying games also give players a chance to explore their own biases, ideas, and preconceptions in a safe environment. Research shows that roleplaying can affect behavior, emotional well-being, and even how we handle emotions like anger—directing them towards fictional scenarios rather than real-world conflicts. It’s like a sandbox for your psyche, where you can try on different personas and see what fits. For example, playing a confident character when you’re anxious in real life can be a way to have a dialogue with yourself about who you are and who you want to be. But the impact happens when players reflect on these experiences. At the end of the day, you’re the one who decides what these new perspectives mean for yourself and your life (Flournoy, 2018).
