I discovered video games alongside my children. I loved them instantly — the perfect escape into a fantasy where I was the badass. For a while, the kids and I played together: three computers, three headsets, all crammed into a tiny house. We barked orders at each other, laughed, and bonded in a way real life rarely allowed. Before long, neighborhood kids dragged their computers over too. We had a whole clan under one roof, and I was the cool mom playing right beside them. I was good, usually undefeated, able to take down most of the monsters. And if a campaign ran late into the night and I was in a good mood, I’d let them skip school the next day.
When I wasn’t playing, I daydreamed about living that fantasy. A fierce warrior, able to defeat anyone in battle. If you didn’t like me, I’d slay you. The list of people who had hurt me was long, and I was still afraid of them. But as my avatar, I was the one in charge. You did things my way. My character was cunning, smart, and strong. She faced fear head‑on. I ran from it. She stood proud. I tried to disappear. She punished the abuse she received. I stayed silent.
In the game, the consequence for a mistake was death — but I always came back, seeking justice. In real life, I had died a million small deaths, and there was no reset button.
Real life had battles too, just like the game. But in the game, I was armed and armored. In reality, my armor was old and worn. Underneath it was a terrified little girl facing battles most people never have to face. Always surviving. Always feeling like there was a target on my back. My conditioning had created a dork — unsure, overthinking everything, always watching for the next bullet, and when I finally struck back, it barely made a dent.
The game gave me moments of empowerment — sometimes even after I shut it off. That obsession filled the gaps in my life. It let me pretend I was the person I wanted to be. It gave me something to look forward to, somewhere to escape, an imaginary alter ego who could do all the things I couldn’t.
That era ended, but I still think about it. Some days I’m almost tempted to download it again. I wonder how I’d play now — a warrior or a villain.
Still standing, still amazed a video game could teach you more about life than the real world ever did,
K.
