How Game Development Quietly Became My Therapy 🎮
🎮 How Game Development Quietly Became My Therapy
It’s only my second day developing a simple game — just a car that can stop and go — but somehow, I already feel like I’m building more than a game.
I’m rebuilding myself. 🧠💡
I don’t even fully know the gameplay mechanics yet. I just know there’s a car, a few lanes, and a “Go” button that makes it move. But even in that simplicity, I’m finding a strange kind of peace.
Every time I press Play in Unity and see the car move, it’s like a small reminder:
I can make things move again — even when I feel stuck. 🚗💨
🧩 Day Two and Already in Too Deep
I didn’t plan this to be something emotional. I just wanted to learn. To create something.
But game development has this way of reflecting your inner world without asking permission. You open Unity, drag a few GameObjects, write some code — and suddenly, you’re face-to-face with your thoughts.
Right now, my “game” barely works. The car stops too late or too soon, the detection boxes are off, and I still can’t decide what the actual gameplay loop should be.
But weirdly, I don’t feel frustrated. I feel… comforted.
Because for once, the problems in front of me make sense.
If something’s broken, I can fix it.
If I don’t understand why, I can Google it.
There’s always a logical reason — unlike life, where things just break for no reason at all.
🧑💻 GitHub: My Best Friend and Savior
I used to think GitHub was only for serious developers. Now, it’s my quiet partner in therapy.
Every time I push a new commit, it feels like I’m saving a little piece of myself. A small snapshot of progress — proof that I’m still moving forward, line by line.
When I mess something up, I can always revert.
When I feel lost, I can check my history.
When I doubt myself, I can branch out and experiment without fear. 🌿
GitHub became more than just a version control tool — it became a metaphor for emotional safety.
It reminded me that it’s okay to mess up, to backtrack, to experiment, to recover.
It’s like therapy with an undo button. 🩹
☁️ Cloud Drive: My Space Saver, My Mind Saver
I’ve started uploading backups to my cloud drive — not just because my storage is dying, but because it feels good to know my little creations are safe somewhere beyond my computer.
There’s something grounding about it.
Like even if my system crashes, or my laptop gives up — my progress is still out there.
It feels symbolic.
I’m not just saving files; I’m saving pieces of myself that I don’t want to lose again.
In a way, my cloud drive has become an emotional vault — a quiet reminder that I’m learning to hold onto what matters and let go of what doesn’t.
🚦 The “Stop and Go” Metaphor
This car game I’m working on — it’s such a simple concept.
A car that stops and goes when you tell it to.
But the more I stare at it, the more I see me.
Stop. Go. Stop. Go.
That’s been my life rhythm for years.
Some days I’m full of drive, pushing forward like I know the road ahead.
Other days, I hit the brakes — overwhelmed, overthinking, unsure of where I’m going.
And maybe that’s why this tiny game feels therapeutic. It mirrors the way I move through life.
Timing matters.
Precision matters.
Patience matters.
When you get it wrong, you don’t lose — you just learn.
That’s what game development is teaching me:
Life isn’t a race; it’s timing. 🕰️
🪛 Debugging My Thoughts
When I started learning to code, I thought debugging was just a technical skill.
Now, I see it’s also emotional.
Every time an error pops up, I find myself debugging me.
💭 Why am I impatient?
💭 Why am I frustrated?
💭 Why am I scared this won’t be good enough?
You can’t fix a bug if you don’t understand what caused it.
And you can’t grow as a person if you don’t look at the real cause of your struggles.
Debugging has become my reflection time — a quiet dialogue between logic and emotion.
🌙 When Unity Becomes Peaceful
There’s something calming about the Unity Editor when it’s quiet.
The gray panels. The grid lines. The Play button.
I used to dread blank screens — in art, in writing, even in life. Blank meant pressure.
Now, blank means possibility.
When I open Unity, I don’t hear the world’s noise anymore. I just hear my own breathing.
And maybe the faint whir of my laptop fans trying their best.
Those quiet hours — coding, testing, failing, retrying — are my therapy sessions.
🧹 Learning the Art of Letting Go
I’ve already scrapped three prototypes in two days. And that used to bother me.
But not anymore.
Every deleted prototype is like shedding old expectations.
Not every idea has to live forever.
Some exist only to teach you something.
It’s okay to let go — as long as you learn something before you do.
That realization has been healing. I’ve spent too much time holding onto things that no longer worked — old habits, old pain, old stories.
Game dev showed me that sometimes deleting a scene file is an act of peace. ✨
🔁 The Flow That Heals
Last night, I sat down just to adjust the car’s detection box.
Two hours later, I was still there — fine-tuning numbers, pressing Play, testing, repeating.
But instead of feeling exhausted, I felt calm.
That’s when I realized I had entered flow — that immersive state where you lose track of time because you’re fully present.
In those moments, I wasn’t worrying about life, bills, or pressure.
I was just there.
Game development became my mindfulness.
Not meditation — creation.
🧠 Git Commit: “Fixed Minor Bugs in Life.cs”
If my life were a script, it would have a lot of red underlines.
Missing semicolons. Undefined variables.
Mismatched expectations.
But maybe that’s okay.
Because what matters isn’t being perfect — it’s catching the errors and learning how to handle them.
Sometimes I imagine my GitHub repo called Life. Each commit message a milestone:
Day 1: Created new project. Unsure of purpose.
Day 2: Added car movement. Still learning controls.
Day 3: Fixed emotional lag. Improved patience.
Day 4: Realized progress > perfection.
Each small improvement counts — whether it’s in the code or in my mindset. 🧩
⸻
☁️ My Cloud Drive of Emotions
When I check my cloud folder and see all those backups — old builds, failed versions, broken projects — I don’t feel embarrassed anymore.
I feel proud. 💾
Because those files are proof that I tried.
They’re not failures — they’re versions of effort.
I imagine each ZIP file as a small chapter in my quiet recovery.
Each one holding the memory of a night spent learning, thinking, or simply not giving up.
⸻
💬 Therapy Without Words
Some people heal through talking.
I heal through making.
Every click, every compile, every tiny success — it’s my way of talking to myself without saying anything.
When I create, I’m honest. I can’t hide behind smiles or small talk.
The code reflects my mood. When I’m scattered, it’s messy.
When I’m calm, it’s elegant. When I’m anxious, it’s overcomplicated.
You can’t lie to your code.
⸻
🧱 What This All Means
I started this wanting to make a simple mobile game.
But now, I realize I’m not just building a game.
I’m building stability.
I’m building patience.
I’m building a way to breathe.
The car that stops and goes isn’t just a prototype — it’s a metaphor.
GitHub isn’t just a tool — it’s my emotional version control.
The cloud drive isn’t just storage — it’s my reminder that I don’t have to hold everything inside.
Maybe this is what quiet therapy looks like for me —
not a couch and conversation, but a keyboard and console. 💻🩵
⸻
🌅 The Unexpected Kind of Healing
Game development didn’t heal me overnight.
But it gave me something real:
✨ A sense of control when life feels unpredictable.
✨ A rhythm of learning when I felt stagnant.
✨ A way to see progress when everything else felt uncertain.
And most of all — it gave me hope.
Hope that I can still create.
Hope that I can still rebuild.
Hope that even if I don’t know the full gameplay yet — I can keep testing, adjusting, and learning.
Because that’s life. You don’t always know the mechanics. You just learn as you go.
⸻
🏁 Final Commit
So yeah, this is only my second day of game development.
My car still jerks awkwardly when it stops.
The lanes aren’t aligned. The scripts are messy.
But it’s okay.
Because underneath all that, something beautiful is happening.
Something quiet. Something healing.
And maybe one day, when this game finally runs smoothly —
I will too. 🕹️💙
