QUIZ: What archetype are you embodying most right now?

Answer these four questions. Don’t overthink. Go with your first instinct.

I’ve spent years in copywriting meetings (which is actually just a bunch of creative weirdos in a room wondering who’ll be the first to cave and grab a snack from the ornamental pastries in the middle of the table) trying to crack the code on why people do what they do.

We call it mapping archetypes, like we’re plotting out some mythical customer journey. But customers are just humans, clusters of us really, wandering around with our own patterns and blind spots and secret little quirks that shape everything.

Somewhere along the way, it hit me that the same tools we use to decode audiences can actually help us decode ourselves. If brands get archetypes, why shouldn’t we?

So I built this quiz. Not to box you in, more to hold up a mirror. It’s a quick way to figure out the role you tend to play in your own story and how that might be steering your choices, your relationships, your ambitions and the way you react when life gets messy.

Take it like you’re eavesdropping on your inner world. It’s meant to be fun because that’s my preferred way to learn.

When you wake up, your first emotional thought is closest to:

A. Who needs me today and how do I not disappoint them?
B. What do I need to accomplish before I’m allowed to relax?
C. I need something to change. I don’t know what, but it’s definitely not this.
D. Please let today be calm. I can’t deal with tension right now.
E. If I can make someone laugh, maybe everything will feel lighter.

When something goes wrong, your default response is:

A. Fix it. Quietly. Without asking for help.
B. Work harder. There must be a better version of me somewhere.
C. Burn it down and figure out a better plan later.
D. Smooth it over so no one gets upset. Even if it hurts me.
E. Make a joke, change the topic, pretend it doesn’t sting.

When someone compliments you, your inner monologue whispers:

A. I don’t deserve this. I just did what anyone would do.
B. Not enough. I could have done more.
C. You have no idea who I really am. Don’t box me in.
D. Please don’t expect anything from me. I don’t want to let you down.
E. If I’m entertaining, you won’t look too closely at the real stuff.

If your life right now had a genre, it would be:

A. Domestic drama where I’m the dependable one who never rests.
B. Inspirational biopic where the hero never stops grinding.
C. Chaotic adventure film starring a misunderstood disruptor.
D. Quiet indie movie where nothing explodes but everything feels tense.
E. A comedy with feelings I keep editing out.

Now we get to the good part…

Time to tally those answers.

Mostly A’s then you, my friend, are living in the The Caregiver archetype.
Mostly B’s then you’re a high-flying but high-anxiety Overachiever
Mostly C’s then congrats you’re The Rebel
Mostly D’s then you’re The Peacemaker, how very nice of you.
Mostly E’s then you’re the fun Comic Relief (does it get exhausting?)

No, you’re not answering these questions for fun.

Although, wasn’t it fun to pretend it was the 90s again and this was an issue of ‘Seventeen’?

You’re revealing the character who has been running your life without your consent. Yay.

Scroll to find your dominant archetype.

(And yes, you can be more than one. But there’s always a lead.)

You move through the day on high alert, quietly clocking who needs what before they even say a word. It’s instinct at this point. 

You patch holes, smooth edges, carry the emotional groceries for everyone else. People call you thoughtful. 

You’d probably call it survival.

There’s a little voice in you that whispers that calm only arrives when everyone around you is settled. So you stretch yourself thin. You say yes even when your body is begging for a no.

You tell yourself it’s kindness, but sometimes it’s fear. Fear of being the one who lets the team down, fear of becoming an inconvenience, fear of losing your spot in the narrative.

It’s your superpower and your curse.

In your mind, you can’t help but think:
If everyone is okay, then maybe I can be okay.

You confuse worth with usefulness. So you over-function until your body files a complaint. You think you’re protecting others, but really you’re protecting your place in the story. Ooof.

Your shadow:
Resentment disguised as loyalty. This doesn’t mean you’re evil your ‘bad’. It’s just the way you were programmed.
You don’t explode. You erode.

Your work:
Define service without self-sacrifice. Let others survive a little chaos. It won’t kill them, and it might save you.

Your mantra:
Not all emergencies are mine.

There’s a mental checklist waiting for you before you even touch your phone. Rest is theoretical, like a holiday house you never actually visit. Getting things done feels safer than sitting still, so you keep pushing, convincing yourself it’s discipline when it’s really instinct.

Somewhere in you, there’s this idea that a shinier version of you exists, and if you just try hard enough, you’ll finally catch up to them. It keeps you moving, even on days your brain is begging for a pause.

Deep down you believe:
There’s a better version of me somewhere. Today might be the day I catch them.

The thing is that no milestone actually satisfies you. Every win dissolves on contact. Your hunger isn’t ambition, it’s avoidance. If you slow down, you might have to feel something. Ick.

Your shadow:
You don’t chase goals, you run (seemingly effortlessly) from inadequacy.

Your work:
Detach identity from output. You’re allowed to exist without performing.

Your mantra:
Done is a place, not a feeling.

You know that thing where someone tells you what to do and your whole body reacts like they just suggested you join a pyramid scheme. That’s you. Rules don’t just irritate you, they feel like static in your bloodstream. Expectations make you want to Houdini out of your own life.

Your shadow isn’t rebellion, it’s restlessness wearing a cute disguise. Reinvention is great until it becomes running. Not everything that holds you is a cage. Sometimes it’s scaffolding, sometimes it’s a storyline worth staying in long enough to see where it goes.

You believe:
If I stay still, I’ll disappear. So I’ll move/leave first.

Your plot twist:
Sometimes you burn down rooms you could have simply exited. Change gives you adrenaline, but chaos isn’t the same as freedom.

Your shadow:
Restlessness dressed up as reinvention.

Your work:
Create before you destroy. Not everything is a cage. Sometimes it’s scaffolding.

Your mantra:
I can leave without burning it.

You read a room faster than most people read a text. You spot the shift in someone’s tone, the micro-pause, the breath that means a storm might be coming. And before anyone even realises there’s tension, you’ve already started smoothing the edges. You soften your voice, swallow your reaction, take up less space. You’d rather be uncomfortable than be the reason someone else is.

Somewhere along the way, you learned that harmony was safety. That if everyone stayed calm, nothing could collapse. So your needs got filed under “later” and later never really arrived. You didn’t choose disappearing, you just got very good at editing yourself in real time.

Here’s the hard part. Your quiet doesn’t keep the peace. It just creates a version of you that people start relating to instead of the real one. And eventually you look around and wonder how you ended up in a life curated for everyone but you.

Your shadow isn’t kindness, it’s the habit of abandoning yourself before anyone else has the chance. It’s loyalty with no oxygen. It’s emotional contortion dressed as harmony.

Your work is letting discomfort exist without rushing to mop it up. Saying the thing you’re scared might change the temperature of the room. Trusting that truth isn’t an attack and that the right people won’t scatter when you stop making yourself so digestible.

You can’t help but believe:
Harmony is safety. My needs are dangerous.

Your plot twist:
Your silence doesn’t prevent conflict, it just delays it. People get used to a version of you that doesn’t exist.

Your shadow:
Self-abandonment disguised as kindness.

Your work:
Tolerate discomfort. Truth isn’t violence. Boundaries don’t break relationships — they reveal them.

Your mantra:
Peace without me isn’t peace.

Everyone loves a comedian. I love comedians. They’re my favourite kind of people, mostly because I’ve always understood the instinct. Keep the room laughing and no one has enough silence to study you too closely. Humour feels like a forcefield. If I can make you smile, then maybe you won’t notice the ache under the surface or the way I’m dodging my own feelings like they’re flying objects.

I’ve always had this quiet belief that if I keep everyone entertained, they’ll stick around. It’s ridiculous when I say it out loud, but it still lives somewhere in me, that idea that charm is safer than honesty. That if people are laughing, they won’t get bored. Or worse, disappointed.

The plot twist is that the persona gets heavy when you can’t take it off. Jokes keep you safe, but they can also trap you. Eventually you realise people love the version of you that performs, not the one who actually needs something.

The shadow here isn’t humour. Humour is beautiful. It’s the habit of slipping behind the punchline whenever things get too real. It’s skipping emotional depth by handing out entertainment like party favours.

The real work is letting someone stay after the punchline lands. Letting the silence exist without rushing to fill it.

Letting someone meet the part of you that isn’t trying to be the fun one or the light one or the distraction from the heavier things. You can do it, I believe in you.

You believe:
If I entertain you, you won’t leave.

Your plot twist:
The joke gets heavy when you can’t put it down. Your humour protects you, but it also hides you.

Your shadow:
Emotional evasion disguised as charisma.

Your work:
Let someone stay when the punchline ends.

Your mantra:
I don’t have to earn my place. You deserve to be here (wherever here is for you).

Every archetype is basically a survival tactic that accidentally became a personality. Cute, but also mildly unhinged when you think about it.

None of them are wrong. But none of them tell the full story either, no matter how hard we try to cosplay them.

So before you go diagnosing your entire existence, I’d like to invite you to sit with the following questions and see what actually rings true.

The Caregiver

Who would I be if I stopped earning love through usefulness?

What need of mine have I postponed in the name of being “good”?

The Overachiever

If I wasn’t allowed to improve anything today, what part of me would panic first?

What am I afraid will happen if I rest before I deserve it?

The Rebel

What am I running from that I could simply walk away from?

If I didn’t need a dramatic exit, what would a quiet choice look like?

The Peacemaker

Where am I telling the truth too softly for anyone to hear it?

What discomfort am I avoiding that is costing me more than facing it would?

The Comic Relief

What emotion am I turning into entertainment before I even feel it?

Who would still choose me if I stopped keeping the mood light?

The good news, friend, is that you aren’t trapped in your archetype.

You’re just familiar with it. It’s like that old jumper you keep wearing, not because it’s flattering, but because it kept you warm during a storm you barely remember. Your nervous system grabbed a character and went, “Yep, this one will keep us alive,” and here we are.

The fun part? Once you notice the pattern, the spell breaks. You can choose a different line. You can hand the mic to a new part of you. You can stop letting yesterday’s survival strategy direct the whole damn film.

Your story isn’t set in stone. It’s being improvised every morning you roll out of bed and decide which version of you is clocking in for the role.

If you want help choosing who shows up next, that’s literally what The Plotline© is for.

The journal gives you the script.
The app helps you run the scene.
You don’t have to wing your character arc alone.

There are eight billion stories out there.
Only one gets to be yours.

Choose it on purpose.

xox

Meg

PS: If you’d like a sidekick on this self-actualisation journey then you can find The Plotline© journal here and it’s companion app here (although you can use the app without the journal too). The app is fun to use with the journal on days you aren’t feeling uber creative.