It always starts small.
A sideways comment.
A sigh that feels heavier than it should.
An urge to “fix” someone else’s mess, or to make sure everyone knows just how wrong they are.
And before I know it, I’m strapped into an emotional roller coaster I didn’t even mean to board—racing through blame, rescue, and helplessness like it’s a theme park ride I can’t get off.
Turns out, there’s a name for this ride: it’s called the Drama Triangle. And the only way off is to see it for what it is before it swallows me whole.
The Drama Triangle is made up of three energetic positions—Persecutor, Rescuer, and Victim—and each one comes with its own flavor of chaos. None of them are healthy, but all of them are strangely magnetic when we’re not paying attention. This isn’t about blaming anyone (we all slip into these roles without realizing it). It’s about awareness. Because once I can see the role I’m in, I can choose to step off the ride altogether.
The Persecutor
This is the part of us that accuses, criticizes, and blames. It might come out sharp and loud, or icy and condescending. When I slip into Persecutor energy, I’m convinced the other person is the problem. It can feel powerful in the moment, but it’s a false kind of power—built on control and fear rather than genuine connection.
For example, maybe my cleaner at our business forgets to take out the trash again, and instead of calmly addressing it, I hear myself saying, You’re so irresponsible. You never think about anyone but yourself. In that moment, I’m not trying to solve a problem—I’m trying to make them feel the weight of my frustration. And while it might get short-term compliance, it erodes trust and connection in the long run.
The Rescuer
This role looks generous on the surface, but it’s a sneaky one. The Rescuer jumps in to help, but in a way that keeps the other person dependent. It feels good to “save” someone—it feeds my ego and distracts me from my own stuff—but it also robs the other person of their own growth. If I’m honest, rescuing can be just as much about me avoiding discomfort as it is about helping someone else.
For example, I might notice a co-worker struggling with a presentation and jump in to “fix” it for them—rewriting slides, rearranging their talking points, even staying late to finish it myself. I tell myself I’m being helpful, but the truth is, I’m not letting them develop the skills or confidence they need. I’m also silently building resentment because I took on more than was mine to carry.
The Victim
When I land here, I feel powerless and hopeless. I want others to see how hard things are for me, but I don’t actually want solutions—at least not right away. I just want to be understood. Victim energy asks for help, but deep down, it’s more about having my pain validated than about changing my situation.
For example, a friend might invite me to a gathering I don’t feel like attending, and instead of just saying no, I say something like, No one ever notices how overwhelmed I am. I’m exhausted. Everything is too much right now. My words are less about declining the invite and more about getting them to acknowledge my struggle.
Here’s the tricky part: these roles are fluid. One minute I can be the Rescuer, swooping in to help, and thirty seconds later I’m the Victim because someone didn’t appreciate my efforts. Or I start as the Victim, then lash out as the Persecutor when I feel unheard. It’s exhausting.
As a counselor, I keep a simple handout ready for clients who keep finding themselves tangled in this triangle—often over and over again with the same people in their lives. Seeing it mapped out in black and white is almost always a lightbulb moment. It’s liberating to realize: I have a choice. I don’t have to keep playing this game.
And right alongside that triangle, I share another tool: the I’m OK, You’re OK framework from transactional analysis. Think of it as the lens we’re looking through while we play the game.
In any interaction, we carry an unconscious stance toward ourselves and the other person:
I’m OK, You’re OK – the healthy position, where I value myself and the other person equally.
I’m OK, You’re Not OK – the one-up stance, often linked to Persecutor energy.
I’m Not OK, You’re OK – the one-down stance, often linked to Victim energy.
I’m Not OK, You’re Not OK – the hopeless stance, where everything feels pointless (I call this the Titanic stance—We’re all going down with the ship!).
Here’s how both models might play out in the same scenario:
Let’s say a friend cancels plans at the last minute. If I’m in the Victim role, my stance is probably “I’m not OK, You’re OK,” telling myself, People always let me down. If I flip to Persecutor, it’s “I’m OK, You’re not OK,” firing off messages about how inconsiderate they are. Or I might slide into Rescuer—“Don’t worry, I’ll just rearrange my evening”—while quietly ignoring my own needs. But if I catch it early, I can stay in “I’m OK, You’re OK,” acknowledge my disappointment, and still care about the relationship without the drama.
This is where mindfulness comes in. When I practice slowing down enough to notice, I can actually feel the shift in my body when I start to get pulled into the triangle or slip into one of those unhealthy stances. Maybe my jaw tightens, or my thoughts start racing, or I feel that hot surge of righteousness (which is usually my Persecutor warming up). Those physical cues are my early warning system.
Understanding my own locus of control changes everything here. Locus of control is just a fancy way of saying where I believe control over my life comes from. An external locus says, “My peace depends on what other people say or do” or “Life happens to me.” An internal locus says, “I can’t control everything, but I can control my response.” The more I shift toward that internal place, the more my nervous system relaxes. I’m no longer at the mercy of the triangle—or the lens I’m looking through. I can see the on-ramps for what they are—temptations to trade peace for drama—and decide if I really want to pay that toll.
When I notice I’m on the triangle, I walk myself through three steps:
Pause – I literally stop talking, take a breath, and notice what’s happening in my body.
Name it – I quietly name the role I’m in (“Oh, I’m rescuing again” or “I just flipped into persecutor”).
Choose again – I ask, “What would I do right now if I were standing in I’m OK, You’re OK?” Then I do that instead.
If I notice I can’t shift my energy away from one of the three roles, I give myself a reset window—thirty minutes to an hour of doing something that calms my nervous system. A walk, music, or even folding laundry can help bring me back to baseline. Once my body feels steady again, it’s far easier to choose a response from “I’m OK, You’re OK.”
The truth is, most of us don’t wake up in the morning planning to play any of these roles. We don’t think, Today I’m going to be a Victim before lunch and a Persecutor by dinner. But the triangle is sneaky. It feeds on old patterns, unresolved wounds, and the parts of us that desperately want to be seen, heard, or in control.
It’s not about being “good” or “bad” at relationships—it’s about being human. And being human means we’re wired for connection, even if sometimes that connection gets tangled up in blame, rescue, or hopelessness.
So here’s what I’ve learned: awareness is the first step, and it’s also the hardest one. It takes courage to look at the role you’ve been playing and the lens you’ve been looking through, and admit, This isn’t who I want to be right now. It takes humility to step out of the game when every part of you wants to stay in and “win.” And it takes practice—daily, clumsy, imperfect practice—to remember that you always have a choice.
So the question I keep asking myself, and now I’m asking you, is this:
When the invitation to step onto the triangle comes, will you hop on out of habit—or pause, feel your feet on the ground, and choose freedom instead?
Because the triangle is a ride that never closes. There’s always an empty seat waiting for you, the music playing, the familiar track ready to spin you through the same loops. You’ve ridden it enough times to know where it goes.
Freedom in relationships doesn’t come from hanging on tighter or trying to steer—it comes from stepping off the platform entirely.
Choice equals freedom. And the more you practice, the steadier your legs get for walking right past the gates toward something better.
The ride will keep circling. The question is—will you?
Peace my friends,
~Travis
