I Play to Feel Seen: How a Quiet Night in Brooklyn Turned My Gaming Ritual into a Sacred Ritual of Self

I never set out to win big. I just needed to be heard.

Growing up in a mixed-income neighborhood where Jewish prayers met African rhythms and Irish lullabies drifted through hallway conversations, I learned early that meaning lives in the spaces between losses—not in the wins. My first game wasn’t about strategy. It was about silence.

At 2 AM, after my shift as a digital content designer at NYU, I’d open the app. Not for money. Not for fame. But to feel seen.

The ‘Fort Niu’ tables? They’re not temples of chance. They’re mirrors.

Each spin felt like lighting a candle in an empty room—no crowd, no cheers, just me and the soft hum of the machine breathing beside me.

I stopped chasing jackpots when I realized: every click was an act of self-recognition.

The real bonus wasn’t the multiplier—it was the pause between bets.

In those quiet moments, I began writing notes on napkins: ‘What did you say when no one was listening?’

I joined a small community—just five others who played at midnight too. We didn’t post screenshots for likes. We posted them because we finally said something true.

This isn’t gambling.

It’s ritual.

And sometimes… you don’t need to win to be whole.