My Love-Hate Relationship With Sudoku

[Walter377]

I need to be honest.

There are days I absolutely love Sudoku.

And there are days I want to close the app dramatically and pretend I've never heard of it.

It's a complicated relationship.

But somehow, I always come back.

It Started as "Just a Quick Game"

Like most habits, it began casually.

Five minutes before bed. A quick puzzle while waiting in line. Something to fill awkward silence during a commute.

At first, I treated it like background entertainment. No strategy. No deep thinking. Just filling numbers and hoping things worked out.

And honestly? That didn't go well.

I made mistakes constantly. I rushed placements. I guessed when I got impatient.

The result? A messy grid and a restart button.

More than once.

The Frustration Phase

There was a point when I seriously considered deleting the app.

You know that moment when you're staring at the board and nothing makes sense?

Every row looks blocked. Every column feels wrong. You scan the grid three times and still don't see anything obvious.

That's when the internal dialogue starts:

"Did I mess something up earlier?"
"Why is this so hard?"
"Maybe I'm just bad at this."

It sounds dramatic for a number puzzle, but in that moment, it feels real.

Sudoku has a way of exposing your impatience.

And I had plenty of that.

The Turning Point: Stop Guessing

The biggest shift happened when I realized something simple:

Guessing was the problem.

Every time I placed a number because it "felt right," I was planting a future mistake.

So I made a rule.

If I couldn't logically justify a number, I wouldn't place it.

That rule changed everything.

Progress became slower — but cleaner.

Instead of rushing toward completion, I focused on certainty.

And the frustration slowly transformed into something else.

The Addictive "Aha" Moment

There's a very specific moment in a difficult puzzle that keeps me hooked.

You're stuck. Completely stuck.

Then suddenly, you notice one small detail.

Maybe a missing number in a column. Maybe a pattern in a box. Maybe a constraint you overlooked earlier.

And that one tiny observation unlocks the board.

It's like a mental domino effect.

One number leads to another. Then another.

Within minutes, what felt impossible starts flowing.

That "aha" moment is incredibly satisfying.

Not loud. Not dramatic.

But deeply rewarding.

Why It Feels So Personal

Unlike many games, Sudoku doesn't depend on reflexes or luck.

If you succeed, it's because you reasoned correctly.

If you fail, it's usually because you rushed or overlooked something.

There's no one else to blame.

That accountability makes every completed puzzle feel personal.

It's not about beating someone else.

It's about beating confusion.

And that's a different kind of victory.

The Emotional Cycle I Go Through Every Time

I've noticed I follow almost the same emotional pattern with each challenging board.

1. Confidence

"This looks manageable."

2. Progress

Numbers start filling in. Momentum builds.

3. Resistance

Suddenly, nothing works.

4. Doubt

"Maybe I'm not thinking clearly."

5. Patience

Slow down. Re-scan. Re-think.

6. Breakthrough

One correct placement changes everything.

7. Satisfaction

The final number goes in. The grid is complete.

It's like a mini life lesson in 20–30 minutes.

Struggle. Adapt. Solve.

When It Actually Annoys Me

Let's not pretend it's always peaceful.

There are days when I'm tired, distracted, or impatient.

On those days, even a medium-level puzzle feels overwhelming.

I make careless mistakes. I misread rows. I overlook obvious constraints.

And yes — I've rage-quit before.

But here's the funny thing.

I almost always come back later.

And when I return with a calmer mindset, the same board suddenly feels solvable.

That contrast taught me something important.

Sometimes the problem isn't the puzzle.

It's my state of mind.

Lessons I Didn't Expect to Learn

Over time, this simple habit started influencing how I approach other challenges.

When a task feels overwhelming, I don't panic as quickly.

I break it down.

What are the constraints?
What's already fixed?
What absolutely cannot change?

Instead of trying to solve everything at once, I focus on one small certainty.

That approach mirrors how I solve Sudoku now.

Find one guaranteed move.

Then another.

Then another.

Eventually, clarity builds.

The Calm After Completion

There's something visually satisfying about a completed grid.

Every row aligned. Every column balanced. Every box filled correctly.

It feels... orderly.

In a world that often feels chaotic, that sense of order is strangely comforting.

For a few minutes, everything makes sense.

And sometimes, that's enough.