This blog documents the journey of Mental Forest, a board game I created as part of my Art in Science master’s project at Liverpool John Moores University. The game is designed to make conversations about mental health feel more natural, accessible, and even playful.

When I began this project, I wanted to see whether a game could do more than entertain. Could it become a creative health tool? Could it create a space for reflection and connection without feeling clinical or heavy? And could it help normalize mental health as part of everyday life?

To answer those questions, I tested the game through three playtests across 2025. Each test had a different focus, shaped by ethical boundaries and the participants involved. The first two sessions, with my peers and professor, looked only at mechanics: how the game flowed, whether the rules made sense, and if the pacing was engaging. The third playtest, with two LJMU professors who specialize in mental health, allowed me to explore both mechanics and meaning — testing whether the game could work as a creative health tool.

These blog posts share that process in detail: what happened during each playtest, the feedback I received, how I felt, and the changes I made. They are not just records of the game’s development, but reflections on how ideas grow through collaboration, iteration, and sometimes failure.

For me, documenting the playtests was as important as making the game itself. It showed me that design is never finished in a single draft — it is shaped by people, conversations, and feedback. Just like mental health, it is an ongoing process of balance, adjustment, and learning.

I hope you enjoy following the journey. Whether you read one post or all of them, I hope they show not only how Mental Forest evolved, but also why I believe play and creativity have such an important role in how we talk about mental health.

All Posts

Playtest #3: Professional Perspectives

The third play test, with two mental health professors, confirmed that Mental Forest was both playable and meaningful — a unique tool for dialogue that now needed clearer presentation and stronger ethical foundations.

cmexicott

Aug 314 min read

Playtest #2: Finding Balance

The second playtest smoothed out pacing but revealed new challenges — too many cards, tricky symbols, and the need for balance taught me that even small mechanics can shape the emotional weight of the game.

cmexicott

Aug 313 min read

Playtest #1: First Steps Into the Forest

The first test of Mental Forest with my peers and professor revealed that while the design was inviting, the mechanics dragged — teaching me that flow and collaboration would be just as important as aesthetics.

cmexicott

Aug 313 min read

Looking back over the three playtests of Mental Forest, I can see just how much the game has grown — and how much I’ve grown with it. Each session was different in scope, participants, and outcomes, but together they shaped the project from a fragile idea into a functioning game with a clear purpose. The playtests were never just about mechanics; they became milestones in my understanding of how creative health tools can normalize conversations around mental health.

Playtest 1: First Steps Into The Forest

The first playtest, in March 2025, was my leap into the unknown. I had created a rough cardboard prototype and invited three of my peers from the MA Art in Science program, along with Professor Mark Roughley, to try it out. The goal at this stage was strictly mechanical: no discussion of metaphors, no reflection on mental health — only rules, pacing, and clarity.

The group’s feedback was honest and practical. They told me the design was approachable and the characters fun, but the board lacked enough playable squares, which made the game slow and frustrating. They also suggested adding an element of collaboration.

That feedback stung a little, but it was necessary. It showed me that visuals weren’t enough — the game had to work as a game first. From their comments, I added more squares, cleaned up the design, and introduced the very first collaborative mechanic: Heart cards.

Playtest 2: Finding Balance

By July 2025, I was ready for the second test, again with two peers and Professor Roughley. This time, I came in with optimism: the Heart cards, extra squares, and design tweaks had all been implemented. And for the most part, it worked. The pacing was smoother, the rhythm more engaging, and interaction was starting to happen.

But the changes also created new problems. There were too many cards, especially star cards, which made goblin squares redundant. Players wanted a proper rulebook and clearer instructions. They also pointed out that some imagery, like skulls, might be triggering for certain audiences.

I left with a clearer sense of how small details shape the emotional tone of the game. This was also when I realised how important balance is: too many cards and the game gets cluttered, too few and it drags. In response, I cut a third of the cards, adjusted the ratio of positive and negative outcomes, replaced the skull with a ghost, and compiled a new physical rulebook. The game felt sturdier, more polished, and more intentional.

Playtest 3: Professional Perspectives

The third playtest, later that year, marked a major turning point. This time, I worked with two mental health professionals: Professors Dean McShane and Ian Pierce Hayes, both senior lecturers at LJMU and cohosts of the Man Hug men’s mental health podcast.

Unlike my peers, they could engage with both mechanics and meaning. Professor McShane even played through the game, while both offered detailed observations. They praised the uniqueness of Mental Forest, saying they had not seen anything like it before. But they also pushed me to think about presentation and application: add objectives and stats to the outside of the box, put a definition of mental illness on player cards, make goals more central, and start considering how to ethically involve younger audiences.

For me, this was the most affirming moment of the project. It confirmed that Mental Forest wasn’t just a quirky student experiment, but a legitimate creative health tool with potential. The feedback was constructive and future-focused, pointing me toward questions of dissemination, ethics, and impact.

What the Journey Taught Me

Taken together, the three playtests created a clear developmental arc:

Playtest 1: Showed me the gaps — mechanics were too slow, collaboration was missing.
Playtest 2: Taught me the importance of balance — refining details like card ratios, imagery, and clarity.
Playtest 3: Validated the project — professionals confirmed its originality and potential, while highlighting the need for strong presentation and ethical planning.

These stages also mirrored the very themes of the game. Just as Mental Forest is about navigating obstacles, finding balance, and seeking support, the design process itself was full of setbacks, adjustments, and breakthroughs.

Most of all, I learned that making a game about mental health means designing for both struggle and connection. A game that only frustrates risks reinforcing stigma. A game that only supports risks oversimplifying reality. The key is balance: challenge tempered by collaboration, difficulty softened by moments of joy.

Closing Thoughts

By the end of the third playtest, Mental Forest felt like a complete project: a board game that is playful, approachable, and metaphorically rich, but also practical and refined. It is not just about anxiety, or even about my own lived experience, but about normalising mental health conversations in everyday life.

The playtests taught me that iteration is not failure — it is the work. Each session revealed something I could not have seen alone, and each piece of feedback brought the game closer to being what it is now. If the first test was about proof of concept, and the second about balance, then the third was about possibility. Together, they showed me that Mental Forest is more than a game — it is an invitation to play, to reflect, and to talk.