Your GM is NOT the Enemy

First Things First: What Is a GM?

A Game Master (GM, or Game Director) is the person who chooses to sit in front of a group of friends—or total strangers—to describe the world, control the enemies, and interact with the players in a story they’ll enjoy together while rolling dice and doing some good ol’ math.

We’re not going to get into whether the GM creates an entire homebrew world for their players to explore or runs published campaigns. We’re also not talking about how much prep a session takes—or how many stat blocks and backup NPC name lists with full backstories they’ve got on hand.

Even though it’s often assumed that the GM is “the one with the most power”—basically a god who can do anything—we need to take a moment and recognize something simple but crucial: the GM is just another player at the table. And, as such, they should be an equal participant in the collaborative story you’re building together.

Of course, that’s assuming you’ve all agreed this is the kind of game you want to play.
We’ll talk about the “GM vs. Players” mode later—for those who enjoy that sort of thing.

But right now, let’s talk about why—most of the time—the GM is not your enemy.

So go ahead. Let that idea go.
Or at least… let me try.

Above All: Honesty

I’ve heard it dozens of times—from both players and fellow GMs:
they don’t really trust each other because it’s way too easy to fudge a roll.
Players have fast fingers, and the GM is behind a screen.

If that’s your starting point, you’re already in trouble.

There needs to be a foundation of mutual understanding and trust.
—Oh, glorious session zeros. Don’t worry, I’ll talk about those soon.

Without that, you start to hear things like:

“Why are you doing this to me?”
“I swear that crit was natural.”
“You’re totally making that up.”
“The GM hates us!”

If you’ve ever run a game, you’ve probably heard at least one of those.
And if you haven’t—but you’ve played—you’ve probably said them.
Lovingly. Maybe. Or not.

The point is: there’s this idea floating around tables like mold in a low-level dungeon.
The GM is the enemy.

Spoiler: they’re not.
Well… almost never.

Where Does This Myth Come From?

Video games. Sadistic GMs. Players traumatized by TPKs.
Power-tripping GMs treating the story like a sandbox where only they matter.
People who don’t care about the hobby.
That one time your beloved character died because you didn’t quite understand the consequences of your own choices.

And yes—Dungeons & Dragons. Let’s be honest.

Because while D&D has brought millions of people into the world of TTRPGs, it’s also the game that’s fueled the “Players vs. DM” mentality the most—DM meaning “Dungeon Master,” as D&D calls it.

With rules for every situation, stat blocks for every creature, and the very real chance that a dragon ends you by round two… it’s easy to believe the GM is out to get you.

But they’re not.

At least not the real ones—the good ones.
The ones who love you, even when they make you suffer.

They don’t want to kill you.
They want to see you fight.
They want to see you prevail.
And—most of all—they want you to have a damn good time.

Referee, Narrator, Co-Conspirator

Depending on the system, the table, and the group’s style, the GM’s role shifts.

In D&D—especially the more tactical or traditional versions—the GM is mostly a referee: applying the rules, managing combat, describing environments. They’re not there to direct a movie, just to make sure things flow… even if that means five traps in a row.

But then you’ve got systems like Daggerheart—bless you, Matthew Mercer—that tell you the GM can be something more.
They can be an emotional guide.
They can help players explore hope and fear.
They can tie your personal motivations directly into the beating heart of the narrative.

Not to punish you—
but to build a story with you that’s actually worth telling.

Personally? I see the GM as an interpreter.
A referee who steps in when the table gets too chaotic.
A neutral voice that makes judgment calls when the rules start bending.

And when they make a ruling against you, trust me—
it’s not to mess with you. It’s not because they hate your character. Or you.
(Though, to be fair, maybe you did something to deserve it.)

They’re just trying to maintain a bit of tension and structure in what’s otherwise a fun, chaotic four-hour adventure with voices and snacks.

Because, believe it or not, the GM has a secret.

A dirty little secret we don’t talk about nearly enough. But I’ll keep shouting it from the mountaintops as many times as needed.

The GM wants you to win.

Not easily. Not for free. But with epic flair.

Because when a player reaches their goal after a hard-fought journey—everybody wins.
When you make a decision (ANY decision).
When you use that one weird item in your inventory to pull off something wild, and everyone has to figure out how to make it work.
When, after a brutal battle, the party survives with 2 HP and a broken arm—the GM smiles on the inside.

I swear.

There’s a quiet joy in watching it all fall into place. Like when you prep a final boss fight and the players beat it using something you never planned for—
but it fits so well, it feels scripted.

And the GM stays quiet. And smiles.

So next time you’re about to jump into a rules debate with your GM because things didn’t go your way—please, don’t take it personally. Don’t try to push for a win by any means necessary.
Just like it’s your job to use all your tools to make things happen, it’s the GM’s job to apply boundaries—to enforce rules that keep the world consistent.

Here’s a real example: in a session of Daggerheart, one of the players was determined to use one of their Experiences to gain an advantage over an enemy.
The thing with Experiences in this system is—they’re so loosely defined that it’s very easy to push them too far.
Trying to reason with the player was tough, not because they hated me (or at least, I hope not), but because they saw me as the enemy.
As the one behind the curtain, pulling the strings of the puppet show.

Other classics include:
—Using Insight as a lie detector.
—Rolling a natural 20 and expecting the NPC to instantly fall in love.

Inside these imaginary worlds, there are usually some basic logical rules.

I’m not saying you have to say yes to everything your GM proposes.
But do keep in mind—rules are there to be applied.

Paraphrasing Matt Mercer:
“If applying a rule kills the fun for my players, I either bend it or ignore it.”
But always with intention. With balance. With care.

It’s hard. But balance can be found—if everyone’s rowing in the same direction.

The Pain of Decisions and the Love of Chaos

As you’ve seen—not everything is epic.
Sometimes, the GM suffers. A lot.

You prep a dungeon for hours, and the group stops to investigate a river because “the bubbles look weird.”
You build an NPC with a custom voice, a rich backstory, and custom art—and they ignore him entirely to chat with the tavern waitress.
You plan everything, only to watch it crash and burn five minutes in because someone says, “I slap him.”

Then come the moments when, with the best of intentions, you interpret a rule—and boom, instant courtroom drama.

The players become rule scholars.
They flip through books, compare editions, find forum threads from 2016 where someone said, “Well, actually, this could be read differently.”
All because your call slightly inconvenienced them.

But, oh—if you’re generous.

If you give them advantage without being asked.
If you allow a creative move that clearly isn’t in the rules.
If you let something slide because it’s hilarious—
then that ruling becomes sacred text.
Etched in stone by Gary Gygax himself.

And there you are, trying to remember this is supposed to be fun—
while balancing consistency, pacing, tone, and not becoming the campaign’s final boss.

Still—you do it.

Because that’s the magic of roleplaying games: it’s not your story.
It’s everyone’s.
And that means letting go of control, embracing chaos, and pretending—just a little—that this was your plan all along.

Trying to get players to understand that this can be frustrating?
That’s a whole new layer of frustration.

Because you don’t really understand it until you sit behind the screen.
Until you realize that you’re not just enforcing rules—you’re holding a whole world in your hands.
And you feel the tension of managing what’s happening at the table… and what’s simmering in the background.

You’re not playing against them.
You’re playing with them.

If you’re a player, remember this next time you think the GM is having a little too much fun with that ogre.
Maybe they are. Sure.

But they’re also trying to keep you alive. Barely.

And if you’re a GM—thank you.

Thank you for sticking with it. For improvising.
For putting the story above your ego.
And for reminding us that in the end, it’s not about winning or losing—
It’s about feeling like we’re part of something that matters.

What about you?

Are you the kind of GM who makes your players suffer (with love)?
Or the kind of player who still thinks the GM is the final boss?

Tell me. I promise I won’t roll for initiative.