In my recent therapy session, my therapist and I discussed having read Sarah J. Maas’s A Court of Thorns and Roses series and how rough a read it was for trauma therapists (and counseling grad students) because it’s difficult to turn off therapy brain and not just focus on all the trauma the characters are suffering. This conversation gave me the creative spark to return to my fiction writing roots after so much academic writing and write my first fan fiction in which Feyre, Rhys, Tamlin, and the rest of the crew attend therapy.

One of the classes I’m currently in in my counseling program is professional ethics, so I took a little extra creative liberty and had some fun imagining a group practice struggling to build best practices and guidelines for mental health care for magical beings who have super-powered hearing, can read minds, and see the future.

I've never been good at being a beginner. I often hold myself to the unrealistic standard that I should inherently know the “right” way to do things, as if expertise should emerge fully formed rather than through the slow and sometimes messy process of learning. This perfectionism has been both a driving force and a persistent challenge in my life, particularly as I navigate the parallel journeys of personal therapy and graduate studies in professional counseling.

As an autistic person, I often find myself struggling to synthesize abstract concepts without tangible, lived experience. Traditional learning environments can feel disconnected from reality—or at least my reality—making it challenging to bridge the gap between theoretical understanding and practical application. This is particularly true in my personal therapy work, where psychoeducation and emotional nuances play such a pivotal role.

It's in this context that Kingdom Come: Deliverance entered my life - a historically-grounded RPG that has become more than just a game. It's evolved into an impactful teacher of patience, self-compassion, and a genuine journey of growth. For someone who habitually holds themselves to unrealistic standards and needs experiential learning opportunities, the game provides a unique space to practice, fail, and grow without real-world consequences.

As an autistic graduate student pursuing a career in mental health counseling, I've discovered an unexpected training ground for developing my therapeutic skills: Disney Dreamlight Valley. While this cozy life simulation game might seem worlds apart from a counseling session, it has become an invaluable space for me to practice and refine the essential skills I'll need as a future therapist.