I recently quit video games—and it turned my life upside down.
But what I never expected was that quitting would help me find myself again.
Ever since I was a boy, I’ve been addicted to video games.
I came home from school one day to find my mum sitting on the floor of my bedroom, playing this exciting new game—Super Mario Bros on Nintendo.
(Fuck, I’m old.)
From that moment on, video games became my constant.
No matter what was happening in my life, they were always there.
When my parents were violently arguing downstairs, video games soothed me.
When I was being bullied in secondary school, video games gave me an escape.
When my mother died from pancreatic cancer, video games helped me forget.
Even a few weeks ago—at 32 years old—it wasn’t easy to quit.
The decision came after I started feeling this weird, nagging sense of unease.
Like… something was off.
At first, I didn’t know what it was. So, I did what I’ve always done—I played more video games, trying to drown it out.
But this time… it didn’t work.
For the first time in my life, video games weren’t silencing the noise.
On some level, I knew I was avoiding something. I just didn’t know what.
And I realized… if I was ever going to find out, I had to remove the distractions.
So I pulled the band-aid off. Cold turkey.
And the last couple of weeks have been brutal.
Boredom.
Depression.
Fatigue.
Irritability.
Anger.
You name it, I felt it.
It didn’t help that I’d already quit porn and stopped leaning on fast food.
The emotions got so intense the other day that I was faced with a choice:
Find another coping mechanism.
Or face whatever the hell I was running from.
And like a madman—I chose the latter.
One of the most intense ways I process emotions is holotropic breathwork.
So I picked a 45-minute breathwork journey from this YouTube channel called Breathe With Sandy.
I cleared a space in my living room, lit a candle, lay down, and started breathing.
At first, it relaxed me.
Then it made me uncomfortable.
I wanted to stop.
But I kept going.
And then… the floodgates opened.
Within 15 minutes, I was curled up in the fetal position, sobbing like a child.
Because that’s exactly who I had regressed into.
I wasn’t 32 anymore. I was that scared little boy who needed video games to survive.
I felt his fear.
I felt his loneliness.
I felt his hopelessness.
But this time, I didn’t run away.
I didn’t escape into video games.
I stayed with him.
And then, in the middle of the storm, I heard something I hadn’t heard in years.
His voice.
“I just wanted to feel safe.”
And for the first time, I wasn’t running.
I was facing him.
And he was facing me.
That torrent of raw, primal emotion washed through every cell of my body.
And when it was done with me…
…it left behind the most profound sense of peace I’ve felt in over a decade.
When my breathing returned to normal, I just lay there.
Completely confused.
What the fuck just happened?
One moment, I was breathing—then I was breaking apart.
And when the storm passed… something inside me had shifted.
But what?
I don’t fully know.
But it felt like some deep emotional knot in the muscle of my heart had finally been released.
The next 24 hours were rough.
My mind was trying to integrate this new experience.
But that night—when I would usually binge 5 hours of Total War: Warhammer 3—I did something different.
I sat with the boredom.
And then, something unexpected happened.
I had a sudden urge to draw.
And then I remembered—I used to love drawing as a child. But I had forgotten.
So I did this…
I dusted off my DJ controller and mixed a drum and bass set—just for fun.
And then I remembered—I used to love DJing with my dad as a kid. But I had forgotten.
Her eyes are big … but it’s a cracking first attempt!
Then it hit me like a ton of bricks.
Video games didn’t just help me escape pain.
They helped me forget joy.
Now that the wounded boy inside me doesn’t need video games to survive…
He’s showing me who I was before the pain ever started.
I always thought quitting video games would leave a hole in my life.
But it turns out…
That hole was already there.
Video games just kept me from noticing it.
And it’s uncomfortable.
But if you decide to dive into that discomfort instead of running from it, you might just find what you are really looking for.
So let me ask you:
What’s the one thing in your life that you turn to when you don’t want to feel?
What happens if you remove it?
Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned…
The things you avoid the most might be where your real self is waiting.
Stay courageous,
Oliver
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