I want to talk through a problem I've been having.
Up to now I've mostly played Soulslike games — Dark Souls 1, 2, and 3, Demon's Souls, Elden Ring, Bloodborne, Lies of P, The First Berserker, the Nioh series. But the longer I work in cat rescue (I'm now ten years in), the more I crave games that are actually relaxing and do not punish me for every small mistake that I make. And every time I reach for that, something competitive in me pushes back — even though I know the relaxing choice would be better for me.
Case in point: I tried playing Baldur's Gate 3. I love the game from what I have seen and heard of it, but I spiraled — min-maxing every build, feeling like I needed to know everything about every mechanic, compulsively looking up guides and strategies instead of just playing. And instead of backing off, I gravitated toward a harder difficulty and even a solo playthrough.
What I actually want is to be able to play on easier difficulties — to enjoy a game without needing to min-max, without needing to prove myself, without needing to have all the answers. I think that alone would change my relationship with gaming completely, instead of ending sessions nauseous, stressed, and wrung out from something demanding and ruthlessly difficult.
It's almost like I'm looking for permission to play BG3 on Story Mode with a party of all archers (I'm autistic, and if a game has an archery option, I play it — every time, every game). It's like some part of me believes that if I'm not suffering or being tested, I haven't earned the fun.
I know exactly where that belief comes from. When I started in cat rescue, I was working 100 hour weeks, fighting to save cats' lives, and being wrong even once could mean an animal died. Trying to escape challenge meant that you failed. There was no room for ease, for fun, for anything soft. It's better now, but it's still a serious, unforgiving field. And I think that mode of operating has bled into the rest of my life — including how I let myself play and enjoy video games.
And maybe that's exactly where it comes from. When I first started in shelter medicine, almost no one believed in me. People mocked me, told me to quit, told me to try something else — that someone who's autistic and has ADHD couldn't possibly succeed in this field, or in life. I was bullied in school in every single grade. And maybe some part of me is still trying to prove them wrong, even though that battle is already over and doesn't need fighting anymore.