My Enneagram: 3, 6, 9

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In the next few posts, I’ll be writing out my rendition of the 9 personality types that compose the Enneagram. If you’re new to the Enneagram, check out my wife’s amazing introductory post, then proceed to any one of the Riso/Hudson overview books. If you’re not afraid of a little Christian language, Richard Rohr’s Enneagram lecture is a personally important document.

These are not meant to be definitive takes on the types, but instead personal renditions, focusing on the aspects of each type that serve as hallmarks for me. Undoubtedly the takes are influenced by the examples of the type I run into, as a weird member of a WEIRD society. My understanding of each type continuously shifts and deepens, so all of this is pending change. And I am a 7 with a side helping of 3, for what it’s worth.

3, 6, and 9 are the so-called “attachment” trio. This means that their default stress response — which is to say, their personality structure — is built on “attaching” to a reassuring state of affairs, an equilibrium or image that is comfortable, often built on the expectations of the environment. The 9 does this by merging and harmonizing. The 6 does this with situational awareness and stress. The 3 does this by chasing excellence.

6 and 9 are the most common two types in the whole system. If you are looking to get better at Enneagram typing people, start by disconfirming the hypotheses that a given person might be a 6 or a 9. This makes sense: given that they are the most groupish personality profiles, if I were God, I would want a lot of them.

All three are diverse in their presentation, given that they survive by adopting value systems found in their environment, and there are plenty of those. To spot them, you have to look for certain navigational styles, rather than surface features.

6: The pragmatist, the troubleshooter, the fixer.

Strengths: Responsibility, awareness, self-sacrifice. Diligence. At their best, sensitivity meets energy, toughness, and commitment. They are practical, quick team players who love to tackle the problem and build lasting bonds. Their intensity is electric, and they are often funny, because worry is a great source of humor.

Weaknesses: Rigidity, paranoia, worrying. Fussiness, resentment. The busybody colleague who treats minor issues like Defcon 1. The QAnon subscriber who keeps boycotting random toiletries because of the chemical they’re worried about that month.

Core fear: You can’t trust yourself and nobody is there to tell you what to do. You stuck your neck out too far and look what it got you. Being tricked, trapped, blamed for an avoidable failure. You’re off the map, because you followed false directions, and where you are is just existentially wrong, and you will never find your way back.

On the group hike of life they are the ones constantly glancing between signs: orienting features on the landscape and their fellow hikers, who they might imitate or support.

“Everything is wrong.” This is a story that I’m used to hearing from 6s who have their lives pretty together: like, years of financial runway, at least one supportive relationship. But they instinctively keep an eye on the possibility of ruin, while also noting how far they’ve fallen short of their potential. This mental swiveling, from the possibility of peril to the indignity of compromise, is a perverse self-soothing mechanism. It stops them from resting in ambiguity, which is a more fearful place. This is unfortunate, given that ambiguity is the beginning of potential.

They often have a plucky, wiry, likable energy. In order to not be left behind, they often master that basic human skill, recruitment. Being befriended by a 6 is not the ooey-gooey experience of merging warmth, which you often get with 2s. Instead, you are being turned into one of the gang, a buddy, a chum. Get used to being asked for your opinion if you know a 6 (and then sometimes having your opinion disregarded when another source contradicts it). When 6s are healthy, this wiry wariness is met by an embodied solidity, and the result is formidable and beautiful.

Often they are pent up. This is because of their basic pattern: they accommodate and compromise, in order to avoid going astray. Then, they find themselves lingering too long in frustrating jobs, friendships, and relationships, which all are selected/engineered to cater to a watered-down version of them. It is easy for them to think that the world could not possibly take a less restrained version of their ambitions, or their emotions, or their sexuality. It is harder to believe that the self-restraint is a cruel self-imposition, which may have been adaptive early in life to suit rigid caregivers or young peers, but which ultimately underestimates the flexibility of the world around them. Sometimes they escape from one prison to find that the confinement was their doing, and it is portable.

Surprisingly, they are sometimes fond of a bender. If you dig into a 6’s life, you will often find jags of irresponsibility, which seem like breaks in character. But it’s not really: nobody can manage themselves that constantly, and 6s sometimes relieve the tension of grimly keeping up in one area (career, for example) by letting another area fall apart.

Sometimes they think they are 4s. This is a grievous mistyping, but it makes some sense. They typically have a suppressed individual streak — the result of living with all of that self-managing. Thus, they are painfully aware of their difference, like 4s. But what they cannot imagine is yielding to their difference, whatever the consequences, which is more typical of the 4 lifestyle. “I’ve always wanted to be an artist, but I’m keeping an eye on where the job market is going” is something I’ve heard from multiple 6s, and zero 4s. And though 4s also complain a lot, the 4 complains to reinforce their specialness, whereas the 6 complains to test your sympathy.

They are skeptics until they aren’t. I have a suspicion that someone is a 6 when I introduce them to the Enneagram and they say, “well, I could be that one, or that one… I have a little bit of this one, too. I guess this system just doesn’t apply to me. Don’t all of these apply to everyone? Maybe this is fake. Or maybe I’m a 4? Or an 8?” This sorting/surveying/questioning action is the mental character of the 6, which is all about fussing, comparison, and disconfirmation. However, when 6s are bought in after this ruminative process, they buy in hard — often they have deep loyalty towards friends, family, mentors, treasured cultural artifacts, etc.

Many 6s seek therapy, coaching, and mentorship. Part of the impulse is simple self-improvement, but part is an urge to relinquish authority. It is dangerous for 6s to get too attached to the words of a spiritual teacher or mentor, whose models 6s might adopt wholesale as a new identity to defend, or a dogma to squeeze into. This is better than having a harsh, unsuitable authority figure as an inner supervisor, but it falls well short of the real prize.

They have teeth. Sure, they attempt to blend in. But they are resourceful — they will fight for what they believe in, whether that looks like being part of an angry mob, or standing up to a bully. Some, the so-called “counter-phobic” 6s, have a habit of figuring out where boundaries are, and what is reliable, by pushing: Malcolm X, John Lennon. This defiant variant can look superficially vastly different from the classic presentation — but if you just look at the mental character, you will see the same wiry, wary energy.

A 6 friend tells me: “The most annoying part of 6ing is that Bad Things Often Happen and your vigilance really does liquidate into golden coins at times, they’ll even compensate you for it at a career level. But when you are a Neo, every bullet looks like something to contort yourself across the field of reality to dodge. Some were never going to hit you in the first place.” -Allie Pape

The woo angle is that when 6s locate their inner authority, their vigilance stops being a cage, and starts being a helpful companion that keeps them from falling off the rails. The quickness that powered their spinning is liberated into spontaneity, and they can shape the world, rather than just responding.

When unhealthy, their worry takes on an image-conscious flavor, like a self-important 3: look how far I’ve fallen! What must everyone think of me! (Typically, everyone is not thinking of you.) When healthy, their ability to hold ambiguity without needing to “snap to grid” takes on the flavor of a healthy 9.

My instinctive reaction to 6s is that I want to take them out dancing; I see how crunched up they are and want to participate in their uncrunching.

Note: I find 6 to be perhaps the hardest Enneagram type to grasp, and the worst described by Enneagram books. This interview from Courtney Smith is a wonderful resource.

3: The optimizer, the example, the shiny person.

Strengths: Drive, charisma, conscientiousness, a neon-like glow. At their best, they are annoyingly great, matching relentless individual achievement with magnanimity and practicality. Good-hearted elites who do right by their gifts.

Weaknesses: Falsity, narcissism, a tendency towards burnout. That person who thinks they’re hiding how tactical they are but absolutely isn’t. They lust for the finest things in life but can’t even really enjoy their prizes.

Core fear: Everyone knows how worthless you are deep down — they didn’t fall in love with your fake self, or even notice it, and now you’ve got no real self to fall back on. Or, if they did fall in love with your fake self, even worse — they will never love you for who you really are. You want to be seen, but dear God, not like that.

On the group hike of life they are at the front, looking out over a vista, in a pose that just happens to make them look like statuary.

3s can present as everyone’s best friend. They are often charmers. When talking to them, one can feel smoothly handled, which, depending on your mood, can be wonderful or irritating. They are deft at navigating around awkwardness before it even appears, calling you by your first name but not in a weird way, offering a canny compliment, keeping the tension at a minimum. But it can be hard to get real vulnerability from them, unless they will directly benefit from it. This is why Bill Clinton is my archetypal 3. “Blank gleam” is a 3 tell for me, an impersonal suavity.

Under the surface, they often contain huge, childlike emotions. Most 3s are not even aware of how much they are optimizing in order to please others. If you have to track a value system, that is far too slow. You have to become it in order to possess real facility. What is concealed is the “don’t abandon me” desperation underneath, and it is often immense. As a result, it is magnificent to see a 3 finally open their heart. And though 3s are often reluctant therapy patients, when they finally turn their competence towards acquiring real emotional intelligence, they flourish.

They possess initiative, and, equally, impatience. They want to be where it’s going and make it happen now. This desire typically blooms into genuine competence in multiple areas — many serial entrepreneurs are 3s. However, this speed emphasis can cause them to cut corners in pursuit of the goal, to overpromise, to be carnie barkers for the gleaming future self they are working on. This also makes them good at spotting talent: since they are so used to seeing themselves as an exploitable resource, they can spot resources in other people, whether to identify future rivals or colleagues.

They are often desirable. If not naturally beautiful, they will work to burnish their other assets, until they are magnetic. As with all the positive traits of the 3, this is a double-edged sword, the pedestal that can become a prison. I remember one striking, slender 3 telling me: “if I start loving myself, I’ll get fat.” This mindset is effective in attracting admiration, but also in making the admiration seem counterfeit. If you attract affirmation by polishing and presenting select facets of yourself, it can become troubling that the other facets aren’t receiving love too.

Often, the confidence of a 3 is surprisingly contextual. Catch them in their environment, where they know how to be, and they absolutely ooze self-assurance. But they can have more trouble in situations where they are visibly the odd one out. Learning something they aren’t naturally talented at is painful, as is entering periods of uncertainty between achievements. Thus, the maturity for 3s is not necessarily in giving up on the project of excellence, but rather learning to punctuate it with relaxation, and to allow for “explore” as well as “exploit”.

The 3 can find it especially redemptive to realize that ultimately, they are not a problem to be solved — not every one of their issues is a resolvable pathology, or a peak to be surmounted. They are also loathe to accept this, because they are so good at making shit go that it’s initially dispiriting to give up on taming the wilds of their subconscious. Being in a place of perpetual stress is typically safer for them than a stance of acceptance.

Recently, a 3 said to me, “it’s amazing how the solution to almost every problem is feeling your feelings.” My response was: that is not generally true, but it’s probably true enough for you! 3s are so practiced at throwing competence around that, if they are in doubt about how to continue, it’s likely because there is some humiliating emotion they have yet to face.

They often possess social awareness. Understanding who is really powerful in the room, who is trusted and who isn’t, what the motives of all the players are — this view of the game board tends to make 3s savvy operators. At the same time, this tactical lens works less well in the domain of casual friendship, and also overestimates how tactical the world is, at large. Thus, a trap that 3s can fall into is performing for people who have no need of the show. Many people, as a result, admire 3s more than like them.

The woo angle is to realize that they still exist when they are not performing — they will not be destroyed by the shattering power of true intimacy, or the pain of anonymity. Ironically, real belonging happens when you stop trying so hard.

When unhealthy, their fear of falling short causes them to numb out and collapse into themselves, like a neurotic 9. When healthy, they acquire the giving pragmatism of a 6.

My instinctive reaction to 3s is that I want them to be real with me, and I try to give them the chance. Sometimes they partake in it, and sometimes they are repulsed.

9: The harmonizer, the cooldown artist, the spacious one.

Strengths: Relaxation, perspective, openness. Stability. When healthy, they can take in the whole panorama of experience, balancing all the perspectives and options before them, and yet still make a firm decision. The sage who does nothing, and yet everything is accomplished. And they can instantly civilize even the most difficult personalities.

Weaknesses: Aloofness, vacillation, dissociation. Manipulative diplomacy. Stubbornness that manifests as a simple refusal to face the obvious matter at hand. Never dares to get hotter or colder than room temperature.

Core fear: Disharmony, being cut off from the flow they carefully maintain. They uncorked their shadow desires—their anger, their preferences, their separate self—and the unity shattered. Now they’re stranded, stuck, drying out on a thin strip of land because they came ashore from the local maximum.

On the group hike of life they are maintaining a steady pace with easy steps, seemingly a part of both the sweep of the valley and the other hikers.

Everyone thinks that Ringo was a useless Beatle. But if you watch Get Back with any attention to the social dynamics, it becomes clear that the band would’ve exploded without him. His quiet generosity of spirit adds a gentle buffer to the other three, who are all challenging people in their own way. This is the genius of the 9 — to make others more tolerable, to provide a broad sky in which thunderclouds and rainbows are equally welcome.

“Should is the most violent word in the English language.” This is an attractive idea that can be deeply dangerous for some personality types. One of them is the 9, a personality type that already excels at passive refusal. Given their talent for endless self-soothing, constraints (deadlines, obligations) can provide helpful prompts to action. But they have to be authentic constraints, onboarded with real buy-in. Otherwise, 9s can be incredibly, silently headstrong, shrugging out of any lasso. Bartleby the Scrivener can be read as a dysfunctional 9.

They are often called stubborn, but I think this fails to capture what it feels like to be on the other end of it. With a 9, you encounter a heavy solid that becomes a slippery liquid. They exude a wonderful feeling of being really there. But then sometimes when you reach to grab them, they slide out of view. So it doesn’t feel like you’re hitting a wall, so much as there’s nothing there pushing back.

To think they are necessarily slothful is to misunderstand. There are plenty of high-achieving 9s, Barack Obama being the most recently notable. What they are is tuned into a wavelength. What they notice is departures from that wavelength. So, they could be comfortable blissing out at a rave to deafening drum and bass, or marching with their regiment, or curling up by the fire. What they are not as happy with is sudden spikes, rearrangements of relationship, a script getting flipped.

“This is fine,” said the cartoon dog, while the house burned down. The 9’s talent for merging with the circumstance can also become self-abandonment. Like the 6, they can coast into being totally out of sync with their genuine wants. But unlike the 6, they aren’t necessarily aware that this is happening, or consciously resentful about it — they are just “going with the flow,” tricking themselves into being alright with subpar circumstances. This can have the unexpected, undesirable side effect of turning people around them into tyrants; 9s often don’t give people helpful appetite-restricting pushback. At the darkest ends of human experience, this can make them fantastic enablers.

They often make absolutely wonderful partners. Their seemingly infinite reserve of patience is a natural wonder. Less patient types, like me, simply cannot understand their deep capacity for what the kids call holding space. Give them your neuroticism, your aggression, your fear. They will take it all, meeting you with stabilizing acceptance — until they get passive-aggressive, or just nonexistent, shrinking away from you as if you’re a piece of disorienting static. This is what can make them deeply frustrating partners: when the going gets tough, they habitually become unreal in order to survive.

Fall in love with your anger seems like nearly a complete path to enlightenment for a 9. But not because that one step is simple: their anger is so swaddled in layers and layers of coping that many latches must be undone before they can embrace conflict without resistance. At average levels of 9 development, the anger is experienced as a constant low-level irritation, an ocean of endless nitpicks — and by the time they rise to open conflict, it’s way too late. Meanwhile, I knew I could trust a 9 friend when she casually yelled “fuck you” at a motorist cutting us off.

They are instinctively drawn to meditation, spirituality, and prayer. They intuitively get the non-me-centric view of the world that is the core of most wisdom traditions. But they can also be skillful abusers of spiritual tools, using them to zone out endlessly: gentle dissociation is the prison toilet wine version of samadhi. Watching sports will also do, or scrolling, any amniotic fluid to get submerged in.

The woo angle is to realize that showing up fully—with their true preferences and conflictual emotions—doesn’t shatter connection but deepens it. True union requires differentiation.

When unhealthy, their vacillation and worrying takes on the endlessly waffling character of a neurotic 6. When healthy, they take on the forward motion of a 3.

My instinctive reaction to 9s is that I like them so much. And I try to be at peace with the feeling that I may never really know whether they share my affection.