Do You Play Because You Love It or Because You Can’t Face the World?

“For a long time, my entire world fit inside a screen.”

Leaving the house felt unbearable. Just the thought of running into someone in the hallway made my chest tighten. My heart would race, my palms would sweat, and I’d rehearse what to say — even if it was just a simple “hello.”

I felt constantly watched. As if every word, every gesture, might be judged, laughed at, or misunderstood. Sometimes, all it took was the sound of a doorbell or a car horn outside to send my body into a spiral.

So I started avoiding. Everything. The street, the invitations, even the people I loved. I shut the door and turned on the game.

Behind the screen, I became someone else. No one could see my face, my anxiety, my hesitation. In the game, I was useful. I had a role. A mission. A team. I mattered. I could talk — even make friends — without having to show who I really was.

The real world felt overwhelming. People were loud. They moved too fast. They got too close. They smelled like perfume, sweat, cigarettes. They wanted me to pay attention to things I didn’t have the strength to face — poverty, injustice, pain. And all I wanted was to disappear for a while.

The game gave me that. It gave me invisibility, and somehow, belonging. A world with rules. A place where I knew what to do, and who I was.

But slowly, I started to vanish from real life. I missed birthdays. Dropped out of college. Stopped answering messages. The outside world scared me. And the inside world numbed me.

It took time to understand that this wasn’t laziness or weakness. It was fear. It was social anxiety. And while the game gave me comfort, it also became my hiding place.

When the game becomes a shield — and a trap

Social anxiety isn’t just shyness. It’s a deep fear of being seen, judged, misunderstood. Everyday life becomes a minefield. Every conversation feels like a test. Every silence, a threat. Your mind replays things you haven’t even said yet. Your body braces for impact that may never come.

And when the world feels like that — unpredictable, messy, overstimulating — the structure of a game can feel like salvation.

In a game, there are rules. Roles. Clear goals. You know what’s expected of you. Communication is filtered. People stay at a distance. You get to choose when and how to show up.

And sometimes, that world feels more real than the one outside. You connect. You cooperate. You belong. That’s not fake — it matters.

The problem begins when the game becomes the only place you feel safe being seen.

When the safe space starts to suffocate

Games are not the enemy. They offer escape, joy, challenge, connection — sometimes even healing. But when they become the only place where someone feels alive, we need to ask: what pain are they shielding us from?

The more we avoid the discomfort of real life, the more foreign — even frightening — it becomes. Social skills atrophy. Isolation deepens. The world feels harsher by the day.

At that point, it’s not about loving games anymore. It’s about not knowing how to live outside them.

A way through

There’s no need to quit gaming cold turkey or force yourself into painful social situations. That only adds shame on top of fear.

What helps is understanding. Compassion. A space where the anxiety can be named — and softened. That’s what psychotherapy offers.

And in that space, games can be part of the healing, not the problem.

Through gaming, we can explore social roles, reactions, avoidance patterns, and even desires for connection. We can ask: What part of me comes alive in this game? What am I afraid of outside of it?

The hiding place can become a mirror. And later, a bridge.

You’re not alone

If this sounds like you, know this: it’s not weakness. It’s a call for care. Your body is trying to protect you the only way it knows how.

And there’s no shame in asking for help.

You don’t have to give up gaming. But maybe you can learn to bring what’s best about it — the courage, creativity, connection — into your real life too. Slowly, gently, and with less fear of being who you are.