World of Warcraft (WoW) turned 20 this year, and while its expansions have seen peaks and valleys, it has been the one constant in my life through a tumultuous journey. From Azeroth’s sprawling landscapes to the comforting grind of raid nights, this game became more than entertainment; it became a lifeline—a sanctuary for an undiagnosed autistic woman navigating ADHD, abuse, and identity.
Through the chaos of life, Azeroth offered a space where I didn’t have to mask or pretend. It was a world that allowed me to thrive, fail, and try again. And though I’ve since moved on to a healthy relationship and a new chapter in my life, I’m still playing my very first character in my new realm. Azeroth isn’t just a game—it’s home. These last 18 years have been an adventure. And, sorry to my Alliance players, but… FOR THE HORDE!
The Beginning: A Portal to Escape
I first stepped into Azeroth in early 2006 during The Burning Crusade. My initial reaction? Reluctance. My now-ex-husband introduced me to WoW, and as someone who had already poured years into Ragnarok Online (farming adorable headgear, no less), I wasn’t ready to start over. But once I crossed through the Dark Portal, everything changed. Azeroth wasn’t just a virtual world; it was a sanctuary.
While the real world demanded masking and meeting impossible standards, WoW allowed me to let go. Who cared if I didn’t do the dishes when there were Fel Reavers to dodge in Hellfire Peninsula? The game’s vastness mirrored the freedom I craved, and for a few hours each day, I could escape into a world where I wasn’t just enough—I was extraordinary.
Wrath of the Lich King: The Golden Era
Wrath of the Lich King wasn’t just an expansion—it was an era of belonging. By this time, I had become a dedicated holy priest, healing my way through raid nights in some of the top guilds on my server. My personal life, however, told a different story. I was in a volatile and abusive relationship, and WoW became my coping mechanism.
My ex-husband was not only my partner in life but also my raid leader. The lines between in-game and real-life dynamics blurred in ways that were both empowering and deeply painful. When I executed a perfect heal rotation, there was a fleeting sense of approval, but any mistake—messing up a raid mechanic, missing a cooldown—was met with sharp criticism that mirrored the control and negativity I endured offline. The raid nights that should have been my escape became another arena where I had to prove my worth, and yet, Azeroth remained my refuge.
Healing others in Azeroth gave me a sense of purpose I couldn’t find in my daily life. While I was healing toxic relationships IRL, I was throwing Power Word: Shield around like Oprah giving out cars. I wasn’t perfect—yes, I stood in fire—but WoW gave me permission to fail and try again without (too much) judgment. In a world where I often felt invisible, WoW reminded me I was capable of great things.
Cataclysm and Beyond: Shattered Worlds
When Cataclysm launched, Deathwing’s arrival shattered Azeroth—and, in many ways, it mirrored the upheaval in my own life. Leaving that toxic relationship was both liberating and terrifying. I had a young child, no support systems, and a string of dead-end jobs that left me financially and emotionally dependent on someone who controlled every aspect of my life. The idea of starting over felt impossible, but Azeroth gave me hope.
I stopped raiding competitively and instead focused on exploring Azeroth at my own pace. I found comfort in farming old content, leveling alts, and collecting mounts and transmogs. Transmog farming became a love language. Don’t talk to me unless I’m in my pristine Tier 6 Vestments of Absolution set from the Outlands, looking like the baddest priest to ever step foot in Orgrimmar. You wouldn’t catch me running ICC in off-brand robes like some kind of Aldi adventurer.
Much like my personal journey, Azeroth has had its messes—like Deathwing remodeling the entire planet without our consent or Sylvanas needing a forced redemption arc. And then there was Mists of Pandaria, which, depending on who you ask, was either the worst or best expansion Blizzard ever put out. For me, it was a turning point where I began to play more casually, appreciating the beautiful landscapes and lore without the pressure of hardcore raiding.
Warlords of Draenor followed, bringing a nostalgic return to Draenor with some… questionable design choices, but it still managed to pull me back into the lore. Then came Legion—a true high point. Fighting alongside Illidan and uniting with the factions to take on the Burning Legion was a reminder of why I fell in love with WoW in the first place.
Still, even when WoW stumbled, it remained my constant. It gave me the space to rebuild myself on my own terms.
Shadowlands: A Story Lost
Ah, Shadowlands. Where do I even begin? Blizzard made some… choices. While the level squish from 120 to 50 didn’t bother me, Sylvanas’ arc did. My girl—the Banshee Queen, the icon—was reduced to a redemption story she didn’t need. Anduin got possessed, Thrall’s mother was a letdown, Baine just… sat there, and Jaina somehow became even more unbearable. It was a mess.
Sure, Blizzard fumbled the bag with Shadowlands—Sylvanas didn’t deserve that mess—but Dragonflight felt like a long-overdue apology. The dragons, the lore, the nostalgia… it reminded me why I fell in love with this world in the first place.
Dragonflight: A Love Letter to Azeroth
Then came Dragonflight, and it felt like coming home. The dragons, the lore, the gorgeous landscapes—it was everything I loved about WoW wrapped in a beautifully crafted expansion. Revisiting the devastation left by Deathwing and diving deeper into Titan lore felt like Blizzard’s way of saying, “We see you. We’re sorry about Shadowlands. Here’s something magical.”
Now, with the War Within expansion, it feels like we’ve recaptured some of that original WoW sauce. The game might not be perfect, but it’s closer to what made me fall in love with it two decades ago.
Expanding the Lens: Mental Health and Gaming as a Coping Mechanism
The role video games play in mental health is often misunderstood. Critics claim gaming fosters violence or addiction, painting a one-dimensional picture of the medium. Yet, for many like me, gaming has been a lifeline—a tool for healing and self-expression in the face of adversity.
World of Warcraft gave me a world where I could be unapologetically myself. For an undiagnosed autistic person with ADHD, the structure of Azeroth provided clarity amidst the chaos. Complex raid mechanics and quest chains felt like puzzles I could solve, and they grounded me when real life spiraled out of control. It wasn’t just a game—it was a space where I could thrive, fail, and try again.
Leaving that relationship was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done. Starting over as a single mother with no safety net felt impossible, but Azeroth reminded me of my resilience. When I stopped raiding competitively and turned to farming transmogs and mounts, I wasn’t just collecting pixels; I was reclaiming my joy.
There’s an urgent need to shift the conversation around video games. Studies show that gaming can help people process trauma, build resilience, and improve mental health. For me, WoW served as a mindfulness practice, grounding me in the present and giving me a sense of agency during turbulent times. A 2020 study found that puzzle games like Tetris reduce intrusive thoughts after traumatic events, while others show games provide Veterans with tools to manage PTSD. Other studies show that gaming can help people process trauma, build resilience, and improve mental health. For me, WoW served as a mindfulness practice, grounding me in the present and giving me a sense of agency during turbulent times.
Of course, the gaming community isn’t without its flaws. Toxicity, gender-based harassment, and racism persist in online spaces. But the friendships I’ve built in Azeroth have outweighed the negatives. My guildmates became a family who valued me for who I was—quirks, melanin, and all.
Finding Identity Through Azeroth
As an undiagnosed autistic person with ADHD, I often felt out of place in the real world. Social interactions were exhausting, masking was second nature, and I struggled to find spaces where I could simply exist without judgment. WoW changed that. Azeroth didn’t require me to mask. It didn’t care if I hyperfixated on perfecting my rotation or spent hours organizing my bags. In WoW, I could just be me—quirks, hyperfocus, and all.
The game’s structure provided a sense of order that calmed the chaos in my mind. Quest logs, talent trees, and raid mechanics were puzzles I could solve, and completing them gave me a sense of accomplishment I rarely found elsewhere. My guildmates, many of whom I’d never met in person, became some of my closest friends. They saw me not as someone who struggled to fit into the world but as a skilled, dependable player who brought value to their team.
And let’s be real: when you’re Black or brown in a gaming space, you’re already carrying the weight of representation. We didn’t grow up seeing folks like us as main characters, so I made damn sure my Blood Elf priest was out there slaying in her melanin-rich glory. WoW gave me the power to take up space unapologetically.
WoW has been my constant through the chaos, but it’s also evolved alongside me. I’m no longer the scared woman escaping her reality; I’m in a healthy relationship, thriving as a mom and a professional, and still maining my OG priest on Thrall. Azeroth isn’t just pixels on a screen. It’s a home, a refuge, and a reminder that even in the darkest times, there’s a world where I can shine. Azeroth taught me that I’m enough, and for that, I’ll always be grateful.
Gaming can be a powerful tool for healing, but it’s just one piece of the puzzle. Therapy, medication, and a strong support system have been critical in my journey. If you’re struggling, please reach out for help—you deserve to be seen, supported, and loved.
If you or someone you know is struggling with abuse, PTSD, or depression, you are not alone. Below are some resources that can help:
–National Domestic Violence Hotline: 1-800-799-7233 or https://www.thehotline.org
– Suicide & Crisis Lifeline: Dial 988 or visit 988lifeline.org
– RAINN (Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network): 1-800-656-HOPE (4673) or rainn.org
– Veterans Crisis Line: Dial 988, then press 1
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Show Comments
Josh
I wanna learn to play now 🙂