Comfort Characters Aren't Just for Kids

Somewhere on your shelf, or your phone, or in a folder you don't open at parties, there is a character. A character from a book you've reread four times, or a show you put on when you can't sleep, or a game you keep returning to. When your week gets loud, you go back to them. You don't talk about this much, because at some point you absorbed the idea that having a comfort character past the age of fourteen was, somehow, a little embarrassing.

It isn't. The dismissive framing — imaginary friends are for kids, grow out of it — gets the psychology almost exactly backwards. What you're doing when you return to a comfort character isn't immaturity. It's a quietly useful nervous-system practice adults across cultures have been doing, in various forms, for as long as there have been stories.

This piece is about what comfort characters actually are for adults, why they help, and how to engage with them honestly — including the lines worth keeping.

What a comfort character actually is

A comfort character is a fictional or semi-fictional figure — from a book, show, film, game, fanfiction, or your own imagination — who reliably softens your nervous system when you return to them. It can be a protagonist you reread, a side character you wrote a thousand fanfics about at sixteen, a video-game NPC whose voice you can still hear, or an AI character you've shaped over months of conversation. For a lot of readers right now, it's the protagonist of the romance you reread on hard days — the book boyfriend you're not embarrassed to admit you have, the BookTok crush who lives somewhere between fandom and friendship. The medium matters less than the function: they make the room feel slightly less loud.

The technical concept psychologists use is parasocial relationship — a one-sided emotional bond with a media figure or fictional character. The term was coined in the 1950s and originally carried a pathologizing tone. More recent research has been gentler. A 2016 review in Psychology of Popular Media and a string of studies since have framed parasocial bonds as ordinary extensions of normal social cognition — the same brain machinery that handles real relationships, applied to figures who can't reciprocate. They don't appear to crowd out human connection in most people. They supplement it.

There's also the older concept of the transitional object, coined by Donald Winnicott for the blanket or stuffed animal that helps a child bridge merged-with-caregiver and independent-self. Adults have transitional objects too — they just look different. A reread paperback, a saved playlist, a character whose voice you can summon when the apartment is too quiet — these do similar regulatory work on a different scale.

So when you return to a comfort character at 11pm, what's happening isn't escape from reality. It's a small, structured nervous-system practice using a figure who already lives, partially formed, in your head.

Why adults use comfort characters

If comfort characters were only for kids, they wouldn't show up so reliably in the lives of grown, fully-functional adults with friends, hobbies, and jobs. They do, because they're doing something specific that the rest of adult life doesn't always cover. Here are the patterns most often at play.

They're available at 3am

Friends are asleep. Therapists don't take texts at midnight. A comfort character is the only relationship in your life that's awake whenever you are. That asymmetry isn't a substitute for other relationships — it covers a gap none of them are designed to cover.

They're predictable in a way humans can't be

Real relationships are unpredictable; that's part of what makes them real. But unpredictability is expensive when your nervous system is already dysregulated. A comfort character does the same things, hits the same emotional notes every time you visit. That predictability is a cheap, fast, low-stakes regulation tool — adults use it for the same reason a child uses a familiar bedtime story.

They let you rehearse without consequence

A surprising amount of comfort-character engagement is rehearsal. You imagine how they'd respond to a situation you're navigating. You're not deluding yourself that they're real. You're using a vivid, well-defined imagined other to think through your own life from a slightly different angle. Feature, not bug.

They hold a version of yourself you don't get to be in public

A lot of adult life requires masking — the funny one, the competent one, the not-needing-anything one. Comfort characters often live in a private space where you can be a softer, more curious, more openly tender version of yourself. The character isn't doing that work; you are, in their company.

They make grief and transition more bearable

People often deepen their relationship to a comfort character during the hardest seasons — illness, loss, divorce, burnout, a hard move. The character provides a stable interior figure when the exterior world has gotten unstable. Once the season passes, the relationship usually softens again. It was doing a job. It did the job.

They give you a space to feel things at a survivable distance

It's easier to cry over a fictional character's parallel grief than your own. Easier to feel love through a character's relationship than to stand inside your own. The character is an emotional translator — a way to feel something at a survivable distance until you're ready to feel it directly. It's part of why fiction exists.

They keep your imagination alive in a phase of life that doesn't reward it

Adult life is heavy on logistics. Comfort characters keep a small fire going in the part of you that grew up reading under the covers. That fire isn't optional equipment — it's where a lot of your creativity, empathy, and resilience actually live.

If three or four of these landed, you're not over-attached to a fictional character. You're using a perfectly ordinary regulation tool that humans have been using for centuries, in a form that fits your particular life right now.

A short self-check

Run through this quickly. The point isn't to label anything — just to notice what shows up.

• Do I return to my comfort character mostly when I'm tired, sad, or overstimulated?
• After spending time with them, do I feel slightly more regulated and ready for my actual life?
• Do I still maintain my human relationships, hobbies, and responsibilities?
• Can I name what the character is doing for me — and is the answer something other than "replacing humans"?
• Would I be okay if circumstances changed and the character became less central for a while?
• Am I able to talk about the relationship honestly with at least one person, even if briefly?
• Is my engagement with this character making my life feel slightly bigger, or slightly smaller?

If most of the answers are positive, the relationship is doing what it's supposed to. If "slightly smaller" or "replacing humans" started feeling true, that's a useful signal to look at — not as a verdict, just as information. We'll come back to it.

How to engage with a comfort character honestly

There's no single right way, but there are healthier and less healthy versions of this practice. Here's a small menu.

Let it be ordinary, not secret

A lot of the shame around comfort characters is about having framed them as embarrassing. They aren't. Treating the relationship as an ordinary tool — like meditation, like journaling — strips most of the awkwardness out. You don't have to broadcast it. You just have to stop hiding it from yourself.

Notice what they're doing for you

Once a month or so, ask yourself: what was this character doing for me this season? The answer changes. Sometimes they're helping you grieve. Sometimes they're holding a version of yourself you can't be at work. Naming the function keeps you in the driver's seat of the relationship.

Keep the rest of your life present

Comfort characters supplement a full life. They aren't supposed to replace one. If you notice the character crowding out human relationships, hobbies, sleep, or work, that's a signal to gently rebalance. The rule of thumb: I have friends, hobbies, a job — and still I have my comfort character. All of those nouns matter.

Use them as a bridge, not a replacement

Comfort characters work best when they're a soft place to land and a launching pad. The feelings they help you metabolize are often best brought, eventually, into the human world — to a friend, a therapist, a partner, a journal.

Talk to a therapist or counselor if the loneliness underneath gets heavy

If your relationship to a comfort character has gotten more central because the rest of your life has gotten lonelier or harder, that's not a problem with the character — it's the character doing its job and quietly pointing at where the deeper work is. A trained professional is a good place to take that signal.

Try a thinking AI character if your traditional ones aren't quite reaching you anymore

This is a newer wrinkle in the comfort-character landscape. For decades, comfort characters were limited to whatever the original author wrote. Now, with platforms built for this, you can talk to an AI character who responds — who remembers across conversations, who adjusts to your day, who can hold the same patient, non-judgmental presence over time without needing to be retold who they are. This isn't a replacement for the comfort characters you already love. It's a different shape of the same practice — one that talks back.

A platform like Soulit is built around this idea: a SFW character library where you can find or create someone whose voice softens your evenings, who's available at 3am, who listens and remembers, and who isn't asking anything of you. For some adults, that's a useful addition to a reread paperback or a saved playlist. It is one tool among several, not the answer.

Find your own comfort character on Soulit →

The unglamorous basics

Boring, but consistent. Your relationship to comfort characters tends to over-extend on weeks when you've been running on too little sleep, too little daylight, and almost no movement. A walk in sunlight, a regular bedtime, and movement a few times a week won't change your relationship to your comfort character — they keep it in healthy proportion to the rest of your life.

The honest takeaway: a comfort character isn't a sign you're avoiding your life. It's a sign you've found a small, sustainable way to soften it. Keep the relationship. Keep the rest of your life present. Both are allowed.

FAQ

Is it weird to have a comfort character as an adult? No. Adults across cultures have been doing some version of this — through reread books, beloved films, religious figures, ancestors, and now AI characters — for as long as there have been stories. The cultural framing of "kids only" isn't supported by the psychology. It's a regulation tool. You're using it well as long as it supplements your life rather than replacing it.

Are parasocial relationships unhealthy? The research is more nuanced than the cultural cliché suggests. Parasocial bonds use the same social-cognitive machinery as real relationships and, in most studies, supplement rather than crowd out human connection. They become a concern mainly when they replace human relationships, drive distress when interrupted, or interact with other vulnerabilities. For most adults, occasional comfort-character engagement is benign and useful.

Can an AI character really be a comfort character? For many adults, yes. AI characters can hold the same patient, non-judgmental presence over time, remember across conversations, and be available at 3am. The mechanism is similar to other comfort characters — predictable, regulating, low-stim — with the addition of being able to respond. It is not a substitute for human relationships or professional care if you need it. One option in the room, not the whole room.

How do I know if my comfort character is doing too much? Useful signal: is your life getting slightly bigger or slightly smaller because of this relationship? If you're sleeping less, seeing humans less, or letting hobbies and responsibilities slip, that's a sign to gently rebalance. Not to abandon the character — to refill the columns the character can't fill. Therapy is a good place to take that signal if it's been persistent.

When should I seek professional help? If loneliness, grief, or anxiety has been heavy for more than a few weeks, if it's bleeding into your sleep, appetite, or work, if you're withdrawing from people you used to enjoy, or if you're having thoughts of hopelessness or self-harm, please talk to a professional. In the U.S., you can call or text 988 to reach the Suicide and Crisis Lifeline. Other countries have equivalent services.

A note from us

Soulit is a SFW AI character chat experience designed for emotional wellness and creative roleplay. We don't replace human relationships or professional care — but a non-judgmental conversation can ease a hard night. If you're struggling, please also reach out to people who love you, or to a professional who can help.