Addicted to Wordle? How to bring back the fun

Late last year, weeks into a winning streak, meditation teacher and mindfulness coach Tim Hwang noticed something had changed about his Wordle habit. 

The New York Times puzzle challenges players to guess a five-letter word in six tries. Simple enough in itself, but Hwang had become overly focused on his stats. Revealing the word in the fewest possible guesses is a badge of honor for players. Long streaks also afford bragging rights. And Hwang began to feel like he was clinging to his record.

“I started noticing that by day 40 of the streak that it just felt like an obligation to actually do the puzzle,” Hwang told Mashable. “I didn’t [enjoy] solving the problems. It was a relief just to complete it to keep my streak alive.” 

Meanwhile, what had begun as a pleasurable text exchange with friends about their results had curdled for Hwang into painful comparisons over who’d solved the puzzle and in how many tries. 

The joy of playing had fizzled. He’d become competitive about Wordle, and arguably even addicted. Hwang decided to stop playing for months — and would only return to the game after identifying ways to apply the skills he’d learned as a meditation teacher. 

Crucially, he didn’t believe the mindfulness problem was with Wordle itself. “The games can be really fun…and you get this flow and meditative state,” Hwang says. “There’s no multitasking. You’re just problem solving, and you’re just trying to figure out a puzzle. That can be really, really gratifying.”

Hwang returned to Wordle two months ago. Now he sets clear intentions for playing, focuses on connection instead of competition, treats losses with a sense of radical acceptance, and remains aware of and curious about the feeling that he’s clinging to victory. 

In short, he’d figured out how to preserve the best elements of online word games without playing obsessively and mindlessly.

Reckoning with Wordle and Spelling Bee obsession

I’d reached out to Hwang to learn more about his bittersweet experience because earlier this year, I’d started playing Wordle and two other Times games, Spelling Bee and Crossplay. 

Solving low-stakes puzzles thrilled my brain; I love words and enjoy spelling. Spelling Bee gives the player seven letters, one of which must be used in each word spelled. Crossplay, which I play with my mom, is the Times’ version of Scrabble, or Words with Friends. Time spent on the puzzles felt like an indulgence in a fast-paced life. 

But, like Hwang, I came to realize that playing the games sparked something less wholesome in me. When I accidentally lost a 28-day Wordle streak because I forgot to complete the puzzle, the sting of disappointment felt out of proportion to the loss. 

I would wake up and feel an urgency to finish my physical therapy and yoga routine in time to start making Wordle and Spelling Bee guesses before my kids got out of bed at 7 a.m. I felt unsettled if I hadn’t reached the highest Spelling Bee level — genius — before the day’s end. 

The games also drew my attention to my phone more frequently, and that in itself was a habit I’d been trying to pare back. So I decided to use a notebook for Spelling Bee, which I typically solve in chunks throughout the day. 

Now instead of staring at my phone, I write down the day’s letters, along with the hints (don’t judge me), and wait until I’ve guessed roughly half the possible words. Then I allow myself a break from work or parenting to put them in all at once. I sometimes use my laptop browser to play, which minimizes the types of distractions I often experience on my phone. 

I also learned a valuable lesson from the Global Day of Unplugging, during which I abandoned my phone, as much as I could, for 24 hours. That meant no Wordle, Spelling Bee, or Crossplay, and no streaks. I craved the games initially, but the discomfort eventually resolved, and I felt peaceful instead. Now days can pass when I don’t play, and I genuinely don’t mind breaking a streak. 

These strategies worked for me, but what about others? I decided to learn more from mindfulness experts about how to course correct when an online word game has become the object of obsession. 

Set your playing intentions

Tara Anderson, a producer for the mindfulness podcast 10% Happier with Dan Harris, had a New York Times online crossword streak of more than 1,000 puzzles. Then she missed a single day. 

Anderson, who has practiced meditation for more than 30 years, said the streak lapse put into stark relief just how invested she’d become in solving the puzzles. 

“It was like, ‘Oh, maybe I’ve been clinging to this too much,” she told Mashable. “It was this bubble popping, and I saw it didn’t mean anything anyway. And then I did the crossword puzzle again the next day. I do it now because I really enjoy the challenge.” 

Anderson, who also plays Wordle and Spelling Bee, now approaches her word games with a simple thought in mind, courtesy of a colleague: “Am I doing this on purpose or not on purpose?” That deceptively simple question helps clarify Anderson’s game-playing intentions. 

Though she’s not clinging to streaks, the games can feel like a distraction from uncomfortable feelings or situations — even if they seem a more virtuous distraction than, say, TikTok. If that’s the case, she tries to mindfully notice what’s happening beneath the surface of her interest in playing. 

Like me, Anderson believes Spelling Bee’s special badges for solving specific words and reaching certain thresholds, like Genius, can feel like getting a gold star. Rewards can make games fun, but they also pose challenges for the player who wants to solve the puzzle for the sake of doing so. 

Focus on your goals

Toby Sola, founder of the meditation app Brightmind, says games are a rewarding way to engage the mind and connect with others. They can also support a meditation or mindfulness practice, building important skills such as noticing your feelings without judgement, and identifying positive and negative behaviors. 

The trick, Sola says, is making sure the game remains aligned with your values, specifically your goals — sharpening your mind, say, or playing with a family member — and how you want to spend your time. 

“Emphasize the playfulness, emphasize the connection, emphasize the gaming functions to the extent that they align with your values, but then de-emphasize all the other stuff,” Sola says.

Anderson, for example, spends time with her kids and husband solving Spelling Bee. She’s also decided to disregard the in-game awards, even if she enjoys them at the moment.

“I really don’t pay attention to the streaks anymore or badges. Sometimes it’s cool when it pops up,” she says, referencing a panagram award for guessing a word that uses all available letters, “but what does it actually mean?”

How Wordle is like a meditation practice 

Meditation teacher Tim Hwang acknowledges that some days the games deliver on the promise of that meditative or flow state. But sometimes the puzzle might frustrate him, exposing deeper feelings about perfectionism and shame. 

This dynamic, Hwang says, is no different than an actual meditation practice — in which some days are “amazing” and on others you feel thwarted, all depending on what’s happening in your life and in the world around you. 

When negative feelings bleed into the gameplay, Hwang recommends observing them with curiosity and being introspective about the factors driving your emotions. 

“Now I only play when I feel like I want to play it, and not like it’s something I have to do.”

Hwang also asks himself whether his game strategies are partly responsible. If he’s trying to solve Wordle in the fewest guesses possible or is worried about his stats, his satisfaction in the game can plummet. 

“Am I putting a lot of pressure on myself or am I going to enjoy this as a leisure activity?” Hwang asks. “These are prompts you can ask yourself in real time and reflect on.” 

Hwang also accepts loss as a reality and feels compassion for himself when he doesn’t solve a puzzle or breaks a streak. 

Ultimately, Hwang feels like he’s found his balance with Wordle. 

“Now I only play when I feel like I want to play it, and not like it’s something I have to do,” he says. “I don’t hold it as an obligation anymore.”