Main Character Syndrome

Your life is not a supporting role.

Apr 29, 2025

👋 Hey, it’s Bryan. Welcome to BEing Human, where we discuss what it takes to lead, perform at your best, and connect Human-to-Human.

There’s a funny thing that happens when you watch a parade: no matter where you stand, every float seems to be coming directly toward you. For a moment, you can pretend the parade is for you, about you, because it’s right there, so bright, loud, and immediate.

But it’s not.

It never was.

Living around people who operate with Main Character Syndrome is a lot like standing on the curb at a parade and forgetting that you are just one of many spectators. He is the float-dazzling, narrating, proclaiming - and you? You are asked, sometimes silently, sometimes directly, to clap louder, smile bigger, and nod in constant agreement that his show is the only show in town.

The first time I noticed this dynamic was in my late twenties, although truthfully, it had been happening all my life. A particular person I noticed narrated every conversation as if it were part of their personal documentary. No matter what story I shared - heartbreak, success, fear - it was quickly folded into a larger narrative about themself.

At first, I found it funny. Then, it became draining. Finally, it was a little soul-killing. I began to realize that I was not a character in my own story when I was with them; I was an extra in theirs.

No one else will save you from being swallowed by someone else’s spotlight. You have to find your way back to yourself, again and again.

Here’s the first action I’ve learned: Name it, gently.

Not to them - though sometimes, maybe, if you’re close enough. But to yourself. Name the feeling when you sense the conversation turning into a monologue you never auditioned for. Name the way you shrink. Name how your needs float away, like paper boats lost down the gutter.

The second thing: Stay anchored.

If they become the parade, you are the oak tree standing nearby. Unmoved, present, rooted. You don’t have to scream for their attention. You don’t have to become a bigger float to compete. You have to stay yourself.

The Main Character’s gravity may be strong, but your selfhood is more substantial if you stay lit from within.

And listen - I’m not above having Main Character Syndrome. I catch myself slipping into that Main Character energy more than I want to. Mid-sentence sometimes, mid-thought. It’s like this reflex to make it about me and build a little stage under my feet.

Survival mechanism, ego flare, plain old human need - call it what you want. I’m guilty too. And when I notice it, there’s this sharp sting of recognition, like biting into something sour. I must pull myself back, remind myself: You are not the sun here. You are just another body moving through this bright, brutal world. It’s not about killing the instinct. It’s about seeing it, catching it. Choosing better when you can.

There was a time when I believed the only way to survive around these people was to become invisible. To duck out, to mute myself. And sometimes, yes, stepping away is the wise choice. Some parades are so loud and all-consuming that you can’t hear your thoughts anymore. In those moments, leaving is not an act of cruelty. It’s an act of love - for yourself, for the possibility of a truer connection elsewhere.

But there are other times when the work is subtler. To stay in the presence of Main Characters without losing yourself is a kind of sacred training. It’s how we learn to exist without vanishing.

Sometimes this means listening without absorbing.

Sometimes it means smiling and thinking, “This is not my movie.”

Sometimes it means redirecting the conversation, offering yourself as a whole human being instead of a supportive prop.

I remember a dinner with someone a few years back, with someone who could teach a master class in Main Character Energy. He spoke for nearly ninety minutes without asking me a single question. In the past, I might have left that dinner feeling invisible, maybe even ashamed. But this time, I noticed something different: I felt fine. I knew I had been there. I had smiled when I meant it. I had listened when it felt right. I had stayed connected to myself.

Because here’s the thing: you don’t have to be the director, the scriptwriter, or co-star of someone else’s show. You can just be you. Sitting at the table. Breathing. Whole.

I keep returning to a teaching I once heard: “You are not required to set yourself on fire to keep others warm.”

Main Character Syndrome can sometimes make you feel that way - like your job is to be the fuel, the light, the scenery, the applause. But you don’t have to burn.

You can simply be.

You can hold your cup of coffee, feel the chair beneath you, and stay rooted in your breath. You can smile when you mean it and not when you don’t. You can let his parade pass by without getting swept up into it.

You don’t need to challenge them head-on to hold your own ground. You just need to stay clear on why you are there.

Ask yourself:

What is mine to offer in this space?
What would I say or do if I weren’t managing their ego?
How can I contribute without performing or hiding?

There may not be room to change them, but you can change the way you participate. Start small: reclaim your voice in a meeting. Advocate for someone else’s idea. Document your wins quietly. Clarity is power, and staying grounded in your values is a quiet kind of rebellion.

Try this boundary in real time:

“That’s an interesting perspective. I’d like to offer another angle.” - You don’t have to rest the mic. You need to use your voice.

You don’t need to be unkind to be honest.

Try saying:

“I want to share something, and I need you to just listen.”
“This isn’t about you, and I need space to process.”
“I love you. And I need you to see me, too.”

These moments can be awkward. But they’re worth it. Because if someone can only love you when you stay small, it’s not really love, it’s codependence masquerading as closeness.

Try this grounding practice:

Before entering the room, name your intention.
Place a hand on your heart and ask, “What do I need right now?”
After the interaction, ask, “Did I stay with myself?”

This doesn’t make you selfish. It makes you sovereign.

Some People Won’t Change. But You Can.

Not everyone will notice when you choose yourself. Some may even get angry. After all, the parade needs its spectators. But you will see. You will feel it in your spine, chest, and the soles of your feet touching the earth.

You will know: I am here.

I am not an extra.

I am not a float.

I am my being, shining quietly, needing no stage.

As we walk through this strange, noisy world, full of people auditioning for a story that will never be complete, maybe the kindest thing we can do for ourselves and them is to let them have their parade, while we keep walking our true path.

No cheering necessary.

No fanfare required.

Just your breath.

Just your steps.

Just your life.

And I’d love to know - have you ever felt yourself shrinking beside someone else’s spotlight? Or caught yourself stepping onto the stage without meaning to?

We’re all learning.

Stay human.
—Bryan

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BEing Human

Main Character Syndrome

Your life is not a supporting role.

Some People Won’t Change. But You Can.

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