Trigger Warning:

This article discusses panic attacks, autism-related sensory overload, medication, and physical symptoms of anxiety. Please proceed with care if these topics may be difficult for you.

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Last night, I had a massive panic attack that lasted about six hours in the thick of it. As I sit here writing this, it’s still lingering around the edges, like an unwanted party guest who just won’t take the hint.

I suspect the last week was simply too much.

You see, it’s been election week here in Canada. On top of running my gaming blog, streaming, and running my gaming YouTube channel, I also create political content in the form of a blog, and YouTube channel (because, apparently, I enjoy voluntarily signing up for stress — someone please stage an intervention). Add to that: there was a huge comic expo event in my city. I attended two days — the so-called “slow” days — which, ironically, were the busiest crowds I’ve ever seen. My autism does not play nicely with that kind of sensory overload.

And because I don’t believe in doing things halfway, I was also desperately trying to keep up with my blog, visit other people’s streams (to stay sane), and not have a full-blown existential crisis over not having time to stream myself.

Crowds and I are not friends.
The experience flung me straight back to 16-year-old me, trying to survive swarms of screaming Backstreet Boys fans — not exactly the nostalgia I was hoping for.

When my panic attacks hit their worst, they follow a pretty specific horror show:

• First comes the migraine. (It started around 5 p.m.)
• Then the burning up and shaking.
• Then the brain fog, where focusing on anything becomes an Olympic-level challenge.

In my infinite wisdom, I had let myself run out of Ativan. I took some Zofran (an anti-nausea medication) and begged my husband to make a late-night pharmacy run.
He left around 9 p.m., armed with a promise from the pharmacist that it would only take 45 minutes.

(Plot twist: it did not.)

By midnight, I was still alone — curled up in the hallway between the back door and the bathroom, fighting to keep my body from tipping into full meltdown.
At this stage, once vomiting starts, the only way out is usually a hospital visit.

When my husband finally returned, I took the Ativan and clung to the first thing I could think of to ground myself:
My Steam Deck.

I booted up Dinkum, my current cozy obsession.
And something amazing happened.

The world got quieter.
My body started to remember what calm felt like.
I found a sliver of stillness inside the chaos.

It wasn’t immediate. It wasn’t perfect.
But after about an hour of gentle, low-stakes gameplay — planting crops, fishing, tending to my virtual farm, trying not to get attacked by a crocodile — I felt safe enough to crawl into bed and fall asleep for a few precious hours.

Why Cozy Games Matter (Especially When the World Feels Like Too Much)

When the real world overwhelms my autism and sets my panic disorder blazing, cozy games become more than just “entertainment.”
They become survival tools.

They offer control in a world that feels uncontrollable.

• I know the rules.
• I know the rhythms.
• No one is yelling. Nothing explodes unless I want it to (looking at you, Stardew bombs).

They allow me to set the pace.

• If I want to water three crops and log off, that’s valid.
• If I want to spend four hours redecorating my Animal Crossing island, that’s healing.

They provide gentle wins.

• Plant a seed.
• Catch a butterfly.
• Build a coop. These small achievements are tiny steps back from the edge when my brain feels too broken to function.

Most importantly, cozy games create a soft place to land.
When the real world is loud, harsh, and terrifying, a cozy game says:
“You’re safe here. Take your time. You’re doing enough just by existing.”

Why Familiar Games Matter Most During Recovery

When I’m deep in overstimulation or coming down from a major panic episode, I almost always reach for games I already know and love.
There’s something vital about familiarity — a sense that nothing will jump out and surprise me, that I don’t have to learn anything new when my brain can barely remember how to breathe.

My go-to titles are my emotional security blankets:

• Animal Crossing: New Horizons (my island is messy, but it’s mine)
• Sun Haven
• Roots of Pacha
• Story of Seasons
• WyldFlowers
• Cereza and the Lost Demon
• Power Wash Simulator
• Hello Kitty Island Adventure
• Fields of Mistria
• Cat Quest (a cozy RPG that’s the video game)

Recommended Cozy Games for Overstimulation and Anxiety Relief

If you’re struggling with panic, sensory overload, or just the heaviness of the world, these cozy titles might also offer you some soft shelter:

Animal Crossing: New Horizons — gentle world-building, cute villagers, and absolutely zero pressure.
Sun Haven — a charming farming sim with just enough magic to feel whimsical. And no stamina bar.
Roots of Pacha — prehistoric farming with cozy community vibes.
Story of Seasons: Friends of Mineral Town — a classic farming sim, endlessly comforting.
Fields of Mistria — sweet fantasy farming and exploration with inclusive character options.
Paleo Pines — a dreamy world where dinosaurs are friends, not foes — perfect for low-pressure farming and exploration.
Sprout Valley — gentle pixel-art farming and island exploration with no rush, no stress, and pure calm.
Cat Quest I & II — light-hearted RPGs full of cat puns, easy combat, and pure joy.
Unpacking — soothing, object-based storytelling; no timers, no scores, just quiet understanding.
Cozy Grove — a slow, spirit-filled island adventure where you restore color and life, one day at a time.
Garden Story — you play as a brave little grape healing a village, with gentle quests and pastel beauty.
WyldFlowers — farming, magic, self-discovery, and a beautiful narrative of belonging.
Cereza and the Lost Demon — a stunning, storybook-style fantasy adventure with soft exploration and puzzles.
PowerWash Simulator — oddly hypnotic cleaning tasks that can calm an overstimulated brain like nothing else.
Hello Kitty Island Adventure — the purest cozy game, built around friendship, kindness, and gentle fun. This one fills my Animal Crossing Needs in a new way.

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Cozy games aren’t frivolous.
They aren’t silly.
They aren’t “just distractions.”

They’re medicine for overstimulated souls.
They are quiet acts of self-rescue when everything else feels unbearable.

And if all I accomplish today is sitting on the couch, holding my Steam Deck like a life preserver, and planting a few virtual carrots?
That’s enough.

That’s survival.
And sometimes, survival is the bravest thing we can do.

I’d love to hear from you:

What cozy games have been your safe harbor when the world feels overwhelming?

Whether it’s a farm you’ve nurtured, a village you’ve built, or just a favorite place you escape to when it all gets too loud — feel free to share your “cozy lifeboats” in the comments.

Let’s build a little library of soft places for all of us who need them.

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