Breath of the Wild saved my sanity—and quite possibly my life—when my daughter spent three months in the NICU (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit) for two open-heart surgeries. For those grueling ~100 days, her fate—as well as my wife's and mine—were almost completely out of our hands.
As any parent who's had the misfortune of having their child hospitalized will tell you, almost all of your time at the hospital consists of waiting, waiting some more, and waiting some more yet again (procedures get rescheduled, paperwork gets held up, supply shipments get delayed, complications inevitably materialize, etc)—all in a monotonous and sterile environment, to the point that time itself loses all meaning.
But being able to escape into the wonderful world of Hyrule became my lifeline: slaying Bokoblins put me in a state of flow, allowing me to focus on the game and not ruminate on the situation; the world itself was lush, vibrant, and a welcome reprieve from the hospital's grey concrete and fluorescent lighting; mapping out strategies to find Korok seeds gave me structure and agency; and the game gave me so much creative inspiration I wrote and printed a Zelda children's book for my daughter, which also provided structure and routine (now that she's slightly older, she beams when she sees the book her dad wrote for her).
It was, quite literally, a lifesaver. I don't know where I or my family would be now, if the game hadn't launched when it did. Other games have similarly helped me through other challenging times (for instance, ACNH during the first year of the pandemic), but Breath of the Wild best illustrates games' potential to not just entertain us throughout life's traumas, but to heal from them as well.
Comments 1
Re: Feature: How Video Games Can Be Brilliant For Your Mental Health
Breath of the Wild saved my sanity—and quite possibly my life—when my daughter spent three months in the NICU (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit) for two open-heart surgeries. For those grueling ~100 days, her fate—as well as my wife's and mine—were almost completely out of our hands.
As any parent who's had the misfortune of having their child hospitalized will tell you, almost all of your time at the hospital consists of waiting, waiting some more, and waiting some more yet again (procedures get rescheduled, paperwork gets held up, supply shipments get delayed, complications inevitably materialize, etc)—all in a monotonous and sterile environment, to the point that time itself loses all meaning.
But being able to escape into the wonderful world of Hyrule became my lifeline: slaying Bokoblins put me in a state of flow, allowing me to focus on the game and not ruminate on the situation; the world itself was lush, vibrant, and a welcome reprieve from the hospital's grey concrete and fluorescent lighting; mapping out strategies to find Korok seeds gave me structure and agency; and the game gave me so much creative inspiration I wrote and printed a Zelda children's book for my daughter, which also provided structure and routine (now that she's slightly older, she beams when she sees the book her dad wrote for her).
It was, quite literally, a lifesaver. I don't know where I or my family would be now, if the game hadn't launched when it did. Other games have similarly helped me through other challenging times (for instance, ACNH during the first year of the pandemic), but Breath of the Wild best illustrates games' potential to not just entertain us throughout life's traumas, but to heal from them as well.