How to Know When You Should Leave a Game Table

I’ve participated in a lot of conversations lately regarding toxic relationships. And they’re always difficult discussions, not least because they involve staring into the face of some difficult truths.

The fact is, the types of toxic relationships are as numerous and varied as relationships in general. Because any time you interact with a person or a group, those interactions can, sadly, turn sour. Sometimes a toxic interaction doesn’t end up involving just a single person. It can involve an entire group – such as a TTRPG (table top role playing game) group.

I’ve witnessed a lot of conversations lately about when to walk away from a TTRPG. And given that I recently wrote about a revival of my love for Dungeons and Dragons (and other similar type games), it seems warranted to talk about the reason I fell out of love with such games in the first place.

As you might expect, it involves a bad situation. A situation that, in retrospect, I probably could have handled a lot differently – and a lot better. But when you’re caught up in a group interaction, it can be hard to judge when things are going wrong. And harder still to know at what point the situation becomes unsalvageable.

TTRPGs require a delicate balance between all the people involved. And in theory, everyone participating wants to make the experience pleasant for everyone else. Feeling otherwise can be a nightmare, especially if no one else shares your feelings or notices your distress. How do you know when to say something, especially when speaking up might disturb the peace for the rest of the group? How do you know when the time has finally, ultimately come to walk away?

My experience suggests the answer is: as soon as you start asking the question.

Sometimes You Click

I’ve played a lot of on-again, off-again D&D over the years. Most of my groups have fallen apart due to time constraints and mismatched schedules. That is the number one most common reason why a game breaks apart. And while it’s sad, it’s far preferable to the alternative, which is a potential explosion.

The longest-term RPG group I ever participated in full time, my husband and I joined while we were in England. It just so happened that the first people we met over there had a long-standing RPG they wanted us to join. (They didn’t use D&D, it was a different system and setting, but we were still happy to learn it.)

It ended up being great. First because it allowed us to meet and make friends with a bunch of new people. We were alone in a country full of strangers, and that group gave us an anchor. It also gave us a reason to go out, travel and meet up with people, even outside of the game. It made what would otherwise have been a pretty rough year into something fun and memorable.

We gelled so well with the group that, when we came back to Canada, they altered their approach to the game so that we could continue to join in on Skype. (We later moved to other internet call services.) And over time, we were able to invite some of our other friends from this side of the pond to join as well.

It was fun. It kept us in touch. And we told some truly epic stories. But over time, after we moved digital, the dynamic changed. And problems started to arise.

Nothing Lasts Forever

I’m not sure exactly what changed. It could have had something to do with the fact that our lives moved in different directions. Many of us started new jobs or advanced in our careers. We got busier, and games became harder to schedule.

It might also have had something to do with the difference between time zones. The Pacific Northwest is, for most of the year, 8 hours behind London England, which was the time zone for the bulk of the group. There is also a difference between gaming online and in person. Having to rely on technology adds certain fault points to the game. And some interactions are just easier face-to-face.

Whatever happened, it started out small. Little things here and there. Until one day, I realized I wasn’t having fun anymore. Not only that, I started to dread game days. The week leading up to them would be fraught with panic attacks, and sometimes I tossed restlessly the night before the game. Which was awful because we had to get up super early for them in the first place in order to make the time zones work.

The biggest problem was that one of the other members of the game group started picking on me. I’m not sure if it was intentional or even what caused the strain between us. In person, we had been fairly good friends. Maybe it was that we talked less between games. Maybe it’s because tone is difficult to read in text and when you can’t see someone’s face. I have no idea.

What I do know is that it felt like everything I said resulted in my head being chewed off. Even when I chose my words carefully, it didn’t really make much difference.

Where I Went Wrong

We ran our game sessions once a month on a Saturday for about 8 hours. Usually there was a small break for lunch (or dinner for our friends in England) during which we’d just hangout then resume playing afterward.

8 hours is a long time to spend in discomfort, especially if you don’t feel like you’re getting any enjoyment out of it. I started to feel a sense of relief every time the game was over or when a session was canceled. And I think that was what made me realize things couldn’t go on as they were.

I contacted the game’s GM and told him how I felt and that I was thinking about quitting. He was instantly concerned. But more than that, he wanted me to stay. So we approached the rest of the group about the situation in hopes of finding a resolution. We did (kind of). But in retrospect, I’m not sure I can say this went well.

The worst part for me was that people admitted they had noticed the tension, but no one said anything. At the time, it felt like my friends had ignored my pain and utterly failed to stand up for me. And that hurt.

But as with all things, most of my clarity about the situation came later, when it was over and I had a lot of time to think about it. And I think the most critical mistake was mine. It was that I didn’t advocate for myself sooner.

I hate confrontation. And more than that, I often find happiness in other people’s happiness. If the people around me are enjoying themselves, that makes me happy. Sometimes, the happiness of others is enough to sustain me even when I’m not necessarily enjoying myself.

What I Learned

The trouble was, I stayed silent long past the point when I stopped having any form of fun. Even the enjoyment of my friends didn’t bolster me through what felt like a bad time. But I valued so much the fun and enjoyment of my friends, that I suffered in silence out of fear of ruining something other people treasured.

I can’t blame anyone for that but myself. I allowed myself to suffer and sacrificed my precious time and energy for something I knew was going to make me unhappy. And I realize now that if I wanted to feel differently, I should have said something. Or even just walked away sooner and let everyone else go on without me. Fear of missing out can really do a number on our heads.

If I had spoken up sooner, I wouldn’t have had to spend so many weeks dreading what others would say or do if I pointed out the problem. And I felt especially silly afterwards because most of the group supported me and supported change. Think what might have happened if I hadn’t waited so long to ask for help!

Our game group survived the tangle – for awhile. But time marches on. People’s lives grew even more busy. Two members of the group got married and bought a house. Sadly, another member of the group passed away. And I don’t think our dynamic survived his passing. We tried for a little while to finish the story for him, but I’m not sure any of our hearts were in it.

So What Should You Do?

In the end, we all stayed friends. Though not all of us talk as much as we used to. My biggest fear, which was that I would ruin all my friendships by speaking up, never came to pass. And I felt silly in retrospect for not trusting that people who cared about me would have my back in a time of need.

The biggest lesson I learned, however, is the decision whether or not to remain within a TTRPG group – or any group really – is deeply personal. But if you’re not having fun or if you dread getting together for an activity that’s supposed to be fun, it’s probably time to examine why you feel the way you do. Especially since situations rarely change on their own without some form of catalyst.

It’s okay to walk away from something. At the time all this was going on, I worried doing so would make me selfish. But I realize now that I probably wasn’t contributing as well as I should have been because I was caught up in worrying about every word that came out of my mouth. Creative endeavors work best when everyone contributing is enthusiastic and engaged.

If a thing stops engaging or fulfilling you, the best thing to do is walk away and find enjoyment elsewhere. Hopefully the group gets on without you. But if they don’t, then it’s a group problem to be solved – whether that means adjusting the way the table runs or finding a replacement for an absent player.

The most important thing is to be open and honest. People can’t help if they don’t know there’s a problem. And if you do advocate for yourself and nothing changes… well then you probably shouldn’t continue devoting your time to a table that doesn’t value your efforts.