Tag: mental health

Esports is a messy b****

When you’re growing up, learning your times tables and being socially conditioned, gossip is taught to be the domain of girls; not something for the men and boys who are above such toxic trivialities.

As someone who has spent over half their life working in male-dominated industries, I can anecdotally disagree – but I don’t even need to state a case anymore, because all you need to do is look at esports Twitter.

As an industry, esports is sectioned off based on games and publishers. While you get crossover between titles, audiences are typically devoted to players, teams and the game they play. Esports Twitter, however, is where those streams cross and merge based almost entirely on one thing; gossip. And because you can publish under the blanket of anonimity on Twitter, you can say whatever you like as if you’re behind someone’s back simply because you are faceless – allowing an army of fellow faceless to spread your opinion on your behalf. And if you’re actually considered the face of something, that army may happily spread your news – or fight – for you.

It is this very nature of Twitter that leads me to question why people decide to go forth and lay bare their more eyebrow raising developments online. It’s not that they shouldn’t have the right to, it’s about who gets swept up in their dustpan of debris. When you publish a post about leaving your on camera role, why not leave it at that? Say your thanks, indicate you are taking a step back or a break and then switch off. Why share the gory details of how your underwear got dirty before airing it in public? Why bring other people into a conversation you didn’t ask for, hurting them further?

Perhaps being in the spotlight for so many years, accessible to the people who watch you, changes the way we see ourselves and our need to share. Instead of disappointing those closest to us, we think immediately of the faceless – but incredibly vocal – chorus, and treat them as the “sixth team member”. After all, these are the audience members who will reply to talent announcements questioning our absence when our face hasn’t made the cut. If you want them to be your weapon, you’ve got to feed them bullets.

I do believe there is an etiquette for broadcast talent to abide by online – without becoming boring. One rule I’m trying to adopt when I’m not included in something is to not tweet my disappointment, but my excitement instead – ultimately esports allows young people to achieve their dreams and we are so privileged to witness that, whether in person or online. Sure, I’ll give a lil’ favourite to acknowloedge someone who puts my hat into the ring, but not to someone who wants me to replace someone else who earned their spot.

It’s a hard thing to do sometimes in this industry because we always feel so utterly replaceable and our competition are our friends, but I think it’s really important to allow someone ownership.

Typically if I’ve not been able to take a job and someone else is offered the role, that’s a similar situation – the exception in the past being if I’m a regular face and about to give birth(!), and for the Reload Elite Series in Paris at EWC which I don’t work on (and they have regular hosts for regardless) because people online were saying I had chosen to work on VALORANT over Fortnite, which wasn’t true – and it was my daughter’s second birthday so I chose not to work at all!

That being said, when I’m an unusual face on a line-up I am running to Reddit to explain I’m just temporary.

I am not above being messy, by the way. I came into the industry imperfect, optimistic, hopelessly naive and looking to change things for the better – which led to me annoying people who then didn’t just passively hope I would stumble, but looked for moments where they could perpetuate the fall. I’ve also misconstrued what people meant in their tweets, and had to sit back, learn and apologise. And don’t get me started on the saddest thing I’ve ever written – right here on this blog – that was deleted before the Counter-Strike community even saw it, but is probably a factor in me no longer being part of that space. (It wasn’t offensive, but it was definitely the words of someone who put grief on pause for too long, describing the sacrifices made to stay in the frame.)

Perhaps this post in itself is too puritanical – who doesn’t jump into the drama and expand the updates the algorithym throws at us? But we can get into the fray without contributing to the fight. I guess the message is; think about the third party before you post.

How you doin’?

It’s a scary thing to “admit you’re not good”.

There’s a game a friend of a friend used to play where they would jokingly torture (in the lighest sense of the word) each other while shouting
“ADMIT YOU’RE NOT GOOD!”

And while I’m not comparing social media to someone trying to make me hilariously uncomfortable, in the present situation there’s certainly a parallel.

I’ve never understood how anyone can stream full-time. After three hours I can often be found yawning mid-game, as the afternoon takes it out of me. I wouldn’t say it’s out of laziness – bear in mind a 12-14 hour broadcast day isn’t unusual in my typical line of esports hosting work. Maybe it’s something to do with the constant splitting of focus between chat, your technical setup and the game itself. I have to shut everything out except my team to play to a fraction of the ability of most of my peers, and usually I’m solo queuing with people who don’t communicate in game. But I’m not skilled enough to play with people I know, and I’m also not brave enough to ask – because what if no one wants to?

Even before the COVID-19 crisis swept the world we were all in uncertain times. And yet, for once I had the stability of an events calendar with work in place – process from my first couple of years when it was far more ad hoc and when I may be booked for an event a couple of days before it kicked off. Sometimes it was a struggle – with my OCD, the uncertainty around work over the previous two Christmas pushed my mental health towards the boundary where I have had to reach for the timeout button (literally during a public holiday; OCD is not a pragmatic condition). But as the plane landed from IEM Katowice into Stanstead, I felt a freeing optimism I hadn’t for a while.

I’m totally aware that people are being made redundant, being furloughed, having events and freelance jobs cancelled the world over. People are dying. It makes me feel guilty to even think about not enjoying some of my streams. I’m not unique. I’m not the only one. I’m not alone. I have that perspective. And yet, my brain – so used to hits of adrenaline from live CSGO and broadcasting – is confused. Isolated. One second it was going to Malta to cover CS:GO for a month, and then it wasn’t.

Outside of the streams I am producing shows, content, seeing what works, taking meetings and renovating the house. I try and exercise in the confines of my kitchen, somehow avoiding kickboxing plates to the end of their lives. I attempt to calculate how much I am worth if I’m hosting from home to prevent potential work from falling through if I propose the wrong figure. I face the universal experience of the freelancer. I dream ideas. I wait. My to-do list mounts up while I procrastinate on what to start first. Outside my study while I stream, my boyfriend works on progressing the state of of our house. He often cooks, helps out at a food bank some days. He brings me food and tea during my stream. He fixes things while I fizzle out.

Often streams are really fun. I’m getting better at Counter-Strike, although the past week or so has seen me miss opportunities in game I know I could have captialised on. I have started doing training maps and relax a little on my no backseating rule when testing flashes. But I’m firm in stopping it once the matches start.

You’re pretty much always going to get odd comments in Twitch chat. Sometimes there’s little things and hey, who cares! You’re fragging out. You’ve got this. And sometimes the steam roll begins, the brainwaves flatten out, your instinct to keep smiling fails you. And then you’re self loathing, dealing with losing on the server and trying not to lose it at the faceless username telling you to relax, while another types “WTH. WAS. THAT!?”.

I enjoy letting my emotions loose in-game. I rage, I let it out and I get on with it. Or I try to. But when you’re streaming you’ve got a whole host of people trying to either influence your emotions (tilting you, insulting you), or policing your behaviour – ie “relax”, “don’t sing”, “you should do X, Y and Z”, “if you took my advice you’d be better”. When you’re hosting, you can avoid Twitch chat and Reddit – and you learn very quickly that it’s healthier for you and everyone around you (although slip-ups are inevitable). When you’re streaming, you can be faced with a wall of people telling you that you suck, in real time where you’re on camera. You can’t hide from that.

But then you also have the supporters. The novel names that become familiar and that you look forward to seeing. The incredible mods who voluntarily keep things going. The subs and viewers who often join me for games. The chatters who keep newcomers in check and don’t make me feel bad when I put someone in their place. Who metaphorically nod and confirm that yes, they did understand I was joking when I explained to the troll that of course my hair is better than my in-game skills, because my hair is awesome.

So here I am. Aware that I’m in a much better position than many, but admitting I’m not good all the same. It was something I needed to do last year when my OCD was as it’s deadliest and I couldn’t do it then; I had a job to do, and then another and another, and even though I was busy and working, I was far more alone then than I am now.

I want you to know that, no matter your situation or its ups and downs, you’re going to be OK too. You will be good. And if you’re not good now, try to think of the one person you trust most and tell them.

And then watch the following clip from The Chase. (It’s a classic.)