Whenever we hear about struggle in video games, a Soulslike isn’t far behind. They are defined by hard gameplay, fuelled by strict mechanics, limited movesets, and precise timing. Struggle is the gameplay. You know it’ll be challenging from the very first enemy encounter, and that tone is set quickly. The difficulty is built in as part of the narrative, aligned with how significant the goal in the story is. There is a lot of work involved in beating such games. Every boss is a wall, every victory is earned.

And yet, I feel strangely empty when I finish games like these. For instance, Elden Ring’s ending just meant my time with it came to an end. I loved Elden Ring. I loved Shadow of the Erdtree even more. I have vivid memories of tough boss fights and the relentless beatings I took, but in the end it all seemed to collapse into accomplishment — short on lessons beyond tenacity.

Recently, I felt a very different kind of struggle, one I hadn’t really experienced before. Not the struggle of overcoming difficulty, but the struggle of enduring the not-so-exciting moments.

The example I’ll give here is a game I recently struggled to complete: Silent Hill f. Bear with me as I go into detail to illustrate how it represents a different type of struggle and the lessons I walked away with. In Silent Hill f, getting the story’s true ending requires at least three playthroughs, each with its own variation. The first playthrough is great — its gameplay is engaging and the plot pulls you forward. The second and third playthroughs? Not so much.

The differences between runs are subtle. I began to see the playthroughs as obstacles on the way to the true ending, like chores. It was a draining experience up until the final stretch, where new lore would surface almost as reparation. But each addition piece forced me to reinterpret everything I thought I understood about the story. My grasp on it kept shifting, and I was always just shy of fully piecing it together.

That is, until the true ending.

The true ending ties all the playthroughs together and crowns them as necessary — each one a required fragment for the final picture to make sense. The once mundane and repetitive runs were now painted in a much more purposeful colour. The first couple of playthroughs began to feel like explorations of opposing choices, culminating at their breaking point. It wasn’t just a cheap attempt to keep players in the game — it recontextualized the narrative in a way that made repetitions belong.

The themes in the game revolve around life choices, difficult decisions, and the burden they carry. It feels like living someone’s life through multiple versions of it, making small choices and watching them ripple outward. Each playthrough becomes a journey down a chosen path and its consequences — good or bad — offering a clearer understanding of why characters act the way they do and what led them there. The game examines how personal choices affect the people closest to you and the delicate task of trying to please others on matters that are largely individual. The mediation between one’s agency the expectation of others.

Silent Hill f turned out to be difficult not because it challenged my skill, but because it tested my patience. It dulls the experience on purpose before delivering its quite worthy reward. There were moments when I felt like giving up and watching the endings online instead. I’m glad I didn’t.

I remember the bosses in Elden Ring.

I remember the meaning of Silent Hill.