Here’s Why Critical Role Is My Natural 20

(credit: Geek and Sundry)

Whether it’s a movie (Lost in Translation), a comic book (Hawkeye), a television show (The X-Files) or a book (Harry Potter), I’ve always found ways of dealing with my mental health that are tied to unconventional methods of therapy. That’s not to say I don’t go sit in front of a woman I’ve been seeing for over two years at least twice a month and talk to her about all my anxieties, because I do. (And she probably wishes I would stop re-hashing the same things over and over, bless her heart.) But I also take comfort in material things that, whether intentional or not, hit at something that I’m struggling with and help me through it. I suppose that’s why I became a professional writer (because I was always using words to get my feelings out when I couldn’t articulate them), why I pursued entertainment journalism (because I loved the things that I was interested in and knew they could mean more to people than just a piece of work), and why I dove into books and fantasy (because constantly being surrounded by other people’s stories made me happy).

I wasn’t and had never been a gamer. My nerdy boyfriend plans his entire life around video games, has a storage unit ten feet high filled with PS4 and X-Box games, and collects Magic cards. But he’d never been into RPG or tabletop gaming, and none of my nerdy friends were into that sort of stuff , either — it was all comic books and video games and cosplay. As a result, I never had a sharp interest in something like Dungeons and Dragons, and had never really watched or known anyone who played. So when Critical Role, the RPG web series lovingly described by Dungeon Master Matt Mercer as a place where “a bunch of nerdy voice actors get together to play Dungeons & Dragons” began seeping into my life via tweets and Tumblr posts from close friends, I didn’t bother to think about checking it out.

I eventually did. I’m really glad I did.

Watching those early episodes, where there’s that delicate but perfect balance of “we all know each other and we’re comfortable with our relationships because we’re friends outside of this, but you don’t feel like an outsider watching us interact,” I felt something that I hadn’t felt in a long time — lightness. And comfort. And distraction from a world that seemed like it was always on fire in the worst way. The actors made me laugh with their antics (and swears) and inside jokes. The characters they inhabited piqued my interest in a way I’d been missing when I looked for stories to dive into. I found myself wholly invested in Vex’ahlia and Vax’ildan, the half-elven twins who re-defined the word “family” — my love for them only increased when I found out that the actors who played them spent three hours in a diner thinking up their backstory and family history. Scanlan’s hilariously random bard songs made me laugh out loud and caused me to text my friends in amusement, while Grog’s one-liners endeared me to an angry, violent Barbarian who I would probably run away from in real life. (Sorry, Travis. No offense, I swear.) Pike’s loyalty reminded me that sometimes, you have to stop and take care of other people who are important to you, no matter what the cost is. Keyleth’s fight for self-confidence gave me confidence to be more daring in my own way — I couldn’t shape-shift into an animal and carry friends across a cliff, but I could reach out to someone who I’d been hesitant to make contact with, or raise my hand and offer my thoughts when I felt like no one would listen to my opinions. And don’t even get me started on the amount of emotion I was able to express by watching and listening to things like Vex worrying about the safety of her beloved bear, Trinket.

Sit yourself down for one episode, and you’ll be able to easily understand how these players and their characters meld together so seamlessly. But it’s more than just feeling their pain, or their happiness, or their stress during a part of their campaign. You find yourself tapping into your own feelings, whether or not you’re aware that you’re doing so. You watch them experience the loss of a team member or tearfully explain a hard moment in their past, and in an instant, you’re suddenly sharing that grief with them. You’re letting yourself mourn for things you haven’t figured out how to say out loud. You’re forced to confront a locked away emotion that you felt vulnerable about sharing, or didn’t know how to embrace. All from a group of voice actors who, for three or so hours, let you into their circle and make you feel like you have a home.

Here’s the thing about Critical Role: RPGs, by nature, are a place of self-expression. If you’re playing or invested in a game, you’re committing to opening up. But more than that, people who you’re interacting with share a common understanding about how invested you should be. I consider myself an introvert, but I don’t consider myself a loner. I have a good group of friends and a pretty decent social life; I even have the luck of having a significant other who fully understands my nerdiness and lets me embrace it. But we all have darkness in our lives, in some way. And Critical Role made me feel like I had friends who understood this darkness, even though I’ve never met any of them in real life. Because they welcomed me with open arms into this world, and into their group, because they knew I needed a place to be alone for a little bit — while not actually being alone at all.

I’m someone who preaches self-care, yet I get so invested in what’s in my own head that I often forget to find healthy ways to practice it. I can tell people something practical, like the fact that Critical Role has helped me become a better communicator, by showing me that I can embrace my true self during podcast recordings or professional speaking events. But I can also tell people something more personal: that an episode of Critical Role on my phone in the morning (making me smile during an otherwise hellish New York City commute) or an episode on my big screen television (relaxing me at the end of a long work week) gives me an outlet to stop and remember why I’m not okay sometimes. And I’m able to realize that because these voices and these players provide me with a crane that lifts the heavy parts I’m carrying around off of me without me asking for that help.

At the heart of gnomes, gunslingers, druids, elves, barbarians and armored bears is Vox Machina — a group that is defined by their teamwork, and the love they show each other as they weather hardships, setbacks, and unexpected roadblocks.

Perhaps more importantly, it is a group that is defined by the love they give to us — the people who are lucky enough to find themselves invited into their world.