I almost lost her to a screen—then I logged back into life

It started as stress relief: one hour of gaming after work. Then it became three. Then weekends. I told myself I was “with friends,” but I wasn’t with my girlfriend. She ate alone while I shouted strategies into a headset. When she finally said, “I don’t recognize us,” I heard it as an attack and doubled down on the only place I still “won”—the game.

A school senior sent me a link to Pt. Dayaram Joshi. “He won’t shame you. He’ll steady you,” he said. On the call, Daya Sir didn’t insult my hobby. He said, “If this is joy, it should not cost the relationship that gives it meaning.” He held a focused process; I agreed to a few hard, adult things: a public schedule on the fridge, two screen-free evenings weekly, and a 30-day spending pause on in-game buys. My girlfriend’s role was not to police me—only to hold me accountable to what I promised.

The first week was withdrawal in every sense. I snapped, sulked, reached for my phone. He kept messaging me one line: “Choose her in real time.” It landed. Midway, I noticed how calm our home felt when my headset stayed in the drawer. We cooked. We walked. We laughed about a meme like normal people. I didn’t quit gaming; I stopped hiding in it.

By the end, I cut my hours in half and set a simple rule—if she talks, the game pauses. She says I’m present. I feel human. We’re planning a small trip that doesn’t need Wi-Fi.

Daya Sir told me, “Winning is good. Being there is better.” I didn’t understand it until the night I heard her say, “I missed us.” That’s the only leaderboard I care about now.