Okay, so… I love the Nintendo Switch. I know. It’s not the most powerful console out there. Some games lag. Yes, Joy-Con drift is real. And yet, I still love it. Deeply.

The Switch has been with me through so much. Through career changes. Through miscarriages. Through cross-continental moves. Through the birth of my son. It was even part of my birth plan — I had packed it to bring with me to the birthing center, just in case. (Spoiler: we never made it there.)
It’s been this quiet little constant — something that’s just… been there, in the background, holding space for joy when I needed it most.

That’s why it doesn’t feel like a gadget.
It feels like a thread woven through all these chapters of my life.
Something that helped me feel like me, even when everything was changing.
It’s comfort. It’s rhythm. It’s home.

When I play my Switch, I feel like a kid again — not because I’m trying to escape being an adult, but because it brings me back to a softer kind of joy. It reminds me of curling up on the couch with a game after school. Of rainy afternoons and cozy blankets. Of having that one moment in the day that was just mine.

And now, as a parent, those moments are harder to come by. But the Switch still gives me that feeling. It’s me-time. It’s safety. It’s one of the few ways I know how to reconnect with myself when life feels like too much.

A Console That Moves With Me

The thing I love most about the Switch is that it fits into my life exactly as it is… messy, busy, full of stops and starts. I’m not sitting down for long, uninterrupted gaming sessions. I’m playing curled up in bed after Elio’s asleep. Or on the couch with a cup of tea. Or squeezing in ten minutes while waiting during errands. And the Switch just… works for that.

It’s light. It’s quiet. It’s not fussy. I don’t have to think. I just pick it up and it’s ready. I do own a Steam Deck, and technically, yeah, it’s stronger. But it never clicked. It’s heavier, louder, and honestly… it feels like one more thing that wants something from me.

The Switch feels like an exhale. It fits me, not the other way around. Bluetooth works. Sleep mode actually does what it promises. The battery lasts long enough to survive the chaos of mom life. It’s reliable in a way that makes me breathe easier.

The Excitement… and the Guilt

So when the Switch 2 was officially announced, I was thrilled. I had been waiting for this. I actually set money aside for it ages ago… back when it was still just a rumor. Before we knew the price. Before there was a release date. Before any of it felt real.

I told myself, this is something I want to be ready for. Because it wasn’t just about getting a new console. It was about holding onto something that’s brought me comfort through so many seasons of my life.

But then things changed. I lost my job. And even though the money was already set aside — even though it was meant for this exact thing — the guilt crept in.

I started questioning everything. Do I really deserve this right now? Shouldn’t I be saving that money? Is it selfish to keep this preorder when I don’t even know what comes next?

And I still don’t know the answers. Maybe it’s irresponsible. Maybe it’s fine. I don’t know.

All I know is that part of me is still so excited. And another part feels like I shouldn’t be. Like joy is something I have to earn. Like I haven’t “done enough” to deserve something just for me.

Letting Joy Exist Anyway

But maybe joy doesn’t have to be earned. Maybe it doesn’t always show up at the perfect time. Maybe it arrives when we need it most… and the work is simply letting ourselves say yes to it.

This isn’t about specs or performance. It’s not about whether the Switch 2 is a good “investment.” It’s about honoring how much this little console has meant to me. It’s about giving myself something to look forward to. It’s about believing I’m allowed to hold both joy and guilt… and still choose the joy anyway.

So tomorrow, I’m unboxing it. Not because I need it. Not because I’ve earned it. But because I want to feel like myself again. Because I’ve been waiting for this. Because I want something to look forward to. Because I deserve a moment of comfort and magic… even in the in-between.

P.S. If you’ve been carrying guilt around joy too, or holding back from something that lights you up — I see you. You’re not alone. I think it’s okay to let joy in, even if everything else feels uncertain.