Why men escape into gaming worlds, work, and risk—and what it says about stress

Ghost of Yotei is a gorgeous game. You’re knee-deep in 1600’s Japan, immersed in a bloodied revenge quest that only entails destruction and heartache. You’re not you; you’re Atsu, who was pinned to a burning tree as a child and now you’re seeking justice for your parents and brother, who you assumed was dead. You soak in the breeze, get lost in the lush of green as relief, while hunting down the murderers.

It’s so much more exciting and vivid than dwelling on your 9-5 troubles, and the deadlines that were missed.

Alieha (changed on request), who has been playing Ghost of Yotei with her husband everyday echoes a similar sentiment. Yet, she does admit that her husband, who has been stressed and unhappy with work lately, has been losing himself in the flowered fields of Yotei, to avoid discussing work. “He returns from work, and gets to play immediately. He says its catharsis. But I’m not so sure,” she says hesitantly.

Her worry isn’t rare — and according to experts, across living rooms lit by LED screens, similar stories are unfolding.

If only, we were allowed to escape into the books we read, or the games we play. But sadly, reality isn’t Narnia or Hogwarts. You do have to wake up and face your 9-5.

Gregory Fantham, Assistant Professor of Psychology at Heriot-Watt University Dubai, explains that escapism through gaming is rooted deeply in gender conditioning. As he says, men tend to be socialised to suppress vulnerability and take a task-focused rather than emotion-focused approach to managing distress. “Gaming, work, or risk may offer protected environments in which they may delude themselves that they are in control in real-life,” he says.

Gaming delivers what real life rarely guarantees: Predictable feedback, clear rules, control, and no emotional exposure. It’s an escape from ambiguity and uncertainty. It’s a relief from powerlessness.

And while escape behaviours aren’t exclusive to men, Fantham says: “The differences are not massive, but men have a greater tendency to externalise stress by standing outside themselves and focusing on definable tasks.”

 But there’s a cost. emotions don’t disappear. You can't just press the X button and recharge.

Mina Shafik, Clinical Psychologist, Lead of Government Public Wellbeing Initiatives at Sage Clinics explains, “When men can’t express their emotions directly, they often use these activities as indirect outlets. Gaming, work, or sports become ways to release tension or manage feelings that feel unsafe to show.”

This is why men may feel relieved after intense gaming or long hours at work. It’s not 'just a game' or 'just work'; it’s a way to cope with stress, frustration, anger, or sadness. The genres many men gravitate toward — competitive, high-intensity, achievement-based — often mirror the internal chaos they struggle to articulate.

Abu Dhabi-based Hemant, 45, who has been gaming for as long as he can remember, reflects on what draws him to the hobby—and what makes him cautious. “In those worlds of racing, fighting, or combat, I take out all my frustration. I feel better afterward. It’s very calming because my brain is fully engaged in planning and observing patterns. That, to me, is the best part of gaming. But the downside, which I see in my son, is the temptation to forget all responsibilities and lose yourself in it. You really need to know when to stop.”

In moderation, outlets like gaming, sports, and work can be genuinely helpful. They offer healthy distractions, a sense of competence, and opportunities to connect with others, boosting resilience and problem-solving skills.

But, it's also a double-edged sword. You can make the best friends while gaming, but sometimes, too much can lead to a sense of isolation.

Both Shafik and Fantham agree: escapism becomes problematic when distractions become substitutes for real life. Fantham warns, gaming does become a problem when it interferes with basic functioning, sleep, relationships, work or when the mood depends on playing. The warning signs: Withdrawal from offline relationships, irritability when interrupted, secrecy about screen time, and visible anxiety when unable to play.

A major warning sign is emotional dependency; when someone feels empty, restless, or highly irritable without gaming, or relies on gaming as their only way to calm down or feel better. The gaming has shifted from recreation to emotional regulation.

And the deeper risk isn’t the game—it’s what the game is protecting. Shafik emphasises that reliance on gaming or work can mask underlying anxiety, depression, or low self-worth. Emotional avoidance can feel like relief, but relief isn’t resolution: “It’s like taking a painkiller for an infection. The discomfort eases, but the root problem remains.”

Virendra Singh, a Dubai-based IT professional is emphatic: He knows when it’s getting obsessive. “I have always been a gamer. I love the world-building ones because that’s where you really lose yourself. But yeah, I don’t play for more than an hour in a day. I know when it starts eating into my sleep, I’m in trouble.”

His brother who doesn’t wish to be named answers, “It’s the same thing with everything. Too much of a good thing isn’t healthy. You should know your limits and learn when to step back. If you’re just playing to avoid everyone else, then you should get help.”

But as he too admits, no one, really wants to admit they’re in trouble. Fantham points out that these macho cultures offer little resistance to a man who seeks to avoid the emotional sources of stress permanently. “His aggressive risk-taking and reward-seeking behaviours compromise not only the well-being of the person, but also of the society or culture that encourages it.”

Paradoxically and sadly, if these are the culture’s norms of behaviour, men may feel comfortable in their conformity with a toxic group identity, so their well-being is not threatened at all. Sometimes psychologists themselves can be deluded into thinking that these men may one day have to pay their dues by suffering a psychological breakdown.

They’re just as likely to become heroes.

Risky behaviours such as reckless driving, substance use, extreme sports, and gambling activate the body’s stress and reward systems, creating a surge of adrenaline and dopamine. That rush can briefly cut through emotional numbness and feel like relief or “aliveness, adds Shafik.

For men conditioned to hide fear or vulnerability, these high-intensity behaviours become a way to feel something powerful without admitting they’re struggling. Over time, though, they tend to escalate and turn destructive. Financial strain, health risks, legal trouble, and damaged relationships pile up, deepening the very stress and emotional pain the person was trying to escape.

Ironically, it’s not just gaming that serves as an enticing distraction. Work too, as Shafik points out, is a socially accepted addiction. “It offers constant validation, like the salary, promotions, praise, along with endless distraction and a ready-made identity. Society especially rewards men who prioritise productivity, which makes overworking feel justified and even admirable.

Underneath that, though, work can hide emptiness, loneliness, shame, or unresolved pain. Throwing themselves into work often gives men a sense of relief, as if they’re doing what they’re “supposed” to do.

The trouble appears when they slow down. Rest, weekends, or holidays can trigger anxiety or guilt because the quiet makes room for the feelings they’ve been avoiding.

And the warning signs are just the same: The fracturing of personal relationships, discomfort, emotional detachment and burnout.

Escapism is human. Everyone needs breaks from reality. But when digital quests replace real-life conversations—and when coping is outsourced entirely to pixels and progress bars—relationships strain, emotional intimacy erodes, and unresolved pain festers quietly beneath the surface.

Gaming can be joy, connection, stress-relief, and even healing—until it's the only place someone knows how to exist.

Maybe the question isn’t whether to play, but what you’re trying not to feel when you do.