When Dopamine turns into anxiety

Yesterday, I made a decision that brought me far more relief than I’d expected—I deleted several gaming apps from my phone. These weren’t just random apps; they were mostly games I’d played to kill time, and a few even promised I could earn extra cash.

At first, it felt like I was simply cleaning up my phone, but it turned out to be much more significant. I realised these games were starting to do more harm than good, slowly turning into a money pit and becoming a huge source of anxiety. Deep down, I’d always suspected those ads claiming you could make money just by playing games from home were a bit dodgy. Time and again, I’d check the leaderboards or payout lists, only to realise their bold promises—like earning hundreds each day or never watching another ad—were all smoke and mirrors.

In the beginning, those games gave me short bursts of excitement. That thrill never lasted long, though, and soon the excitement was replaced by a constant, uneasy anxiety. I started to feel on edge whenever I couldn’t play. Sometimes, I’d even zone out during conversations with my family, just so I wouldn’t miss the next virtual reward.

One evening, I was sitting on the couch, phone in hand, waiting for my daily login bonus. My mum sat next to me, watching for a bit. She put her hand on my arm and said, “Love, you’re always glued to that thing. Remember when you used to read with me after dinner or help with the washing up? I miss those chats. Maybe it’s time to give it a rest.” Her words lingered in my mind as I continued playing, torn between the comfort of routine and the desire for change.

The games were filled with endless ads that drove me mad, and I found myself spending real money on gems and in-game cash just to climb the leaderboards. The thrill of a win felt fleeting and unsatisfying, and I’d always find myself coming back to the game sooner than I’d like. I remember the rush of making a purchase—the quick tap of my finger, the buzz of anticipation—only to be followed by a wave of regret every time the payment went through. The weight of guilt felt like a stone in my chest every time I saw another purchase in my account. It was alarmingly easy to keep spending, and I struggled to stop myself.

The final straw came when I noticed I was impatiently waiting for my next pay just so I could make another in-game purchase. It made me deeply uncomfortable, as if I was stuck in a loop I couldn’t control. I’d find myself checking my bank account, calculating how much I could afford to spend among my other expenses. I’d quickly delete the emails confirming my Apple purchases, hoping no one would notice. Each time I glanced at my account and saw a list of in-game purchases, guilt washed over me—a harsh reminder of how much time and money I’d wasted.

Deleting those apps had a surprisingly positive impact on my daily routine. Suddenly, I felt free. The anxious urge to chase gaming rewards began to fade. Instead of instinctively reaching for my phone, I found myself picking up a book or going for a walk. I felt healthier, more present, and genuinely fulfilled. The simple act of removing those games created space in my mind and lifted a weight off my shoulders.

Now, I don’t feel guilty about putting off reading or skipping exercise just to play games on my phone. I’m enjoying a much better balance in my life, spending more time with my family and less time lost in virtual worlds.

Looking back, I realise that letting go of these games hasn’t just improved my daily life; it’s reminded me that small changes can lead to significant personal growth. If you’re feeling stuck in a similar habit, know that you’re not alone, and breaking free is possible. Sometimes, the smallest decisions—like deleting an app—can have the biggest impact.