{"id":3205448,"date":"2025-05-19T08:10:00","date_gmt":"2025-05-19T13:10:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.learningandthebrain.com\/blog\/?p=3205448"},"modified":"2025-05-14T14:21:59","modified_gmt":"2025-05-14T19:21:59","slug":"too-good-to-be-true-the-effect-of-tetris-on-ptsd-symptoms","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.learningandthebrain.com\/blog\/too-good-to-be-true-the-effect-of-tetris-on-ptsd-symptoms\/","title":{"rendered":"Too Good to be True? The Effect of Tetris on PTSD Symptoms"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Teachers and school leaders turn to research — in part — because it can help us solve problems<\/em>. Of course, the bigger <\/strong>the problem, the more urgent <\/strong>the need for a solution.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For this reason, we’re easily drawn to the more dramatic “research-based” claims. When a big problem has an easy solution — an easy solution with RESEARCH behind it — we’re tempted to adopt that new strategy right away. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

In this blog post, I want to suggest — first <\/strong>— that we should slow down. And — second<\/strong> — that we should ask some important questions before we make big changes. After all: if the problem is big and urgent, we could make it worse <\/em>by enacting an ill-considered solution based on flimsy research claims.<\/p>\n\n\n

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First: Slow Down<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Carl Sagan famously said: “extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence.” <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Let’s imagine that I tell you: “You can add 20 points to your IQ just by eating raisins every day!” That claim is a biggie. You’ll want LOTS of VERY STRONG evidence to support it. (To be clear: I don’t know of any way to increase IQ at all — much less a raisin-centric diet.)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Dan Willingham made a related point in his book Why Don’t Students Like School?<\/em> Willingham argues that — over a few hundred years — teachers have tried all sorts of strategies to help students learn. For this reason, it’s difficult to imagine that a simple strategy will have a surprisingly large effect. After all: if a one-step solution works so well, why hasn’t someone tried it — and reported on its benefits?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For this reason, it’s likelier that research will find incremental<\/em> benefits to a new teaching strategy — and that the new strategy will require more than a simple tweak or two. In other words: we’ve (probably) already figured out the big, easy stuff. Research will help with the small, difficult stuff.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

So, let’s consider the claim implied in my title: “playing Tetris can reduce PTSD symptoms.” <\/p>\n\n\n\n

That claim pushes up against both Sagan’s and Willingham’s guidance. To me, at least, the idea that Tetris (of all things) helps with trauma — that’s extraordinary all right. And the idea that something as simple <\/em>as Tetris will have an effect strains credulity. If reducing trauma symptoms is so easy, why haven’t we figured that out yet?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For both of these reasons: slow down.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Second: Questions to Ask<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Most researchers take care to speak very precisely about the scope and limitations of their claims. Before we get carried away, we want to be sure we understand exactly what they’re claiming<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Here’s a handy approach. All published research begins with a one-paragraph summary<\/strong> of the study. This summary goes by a rather odd name: the “abstract.” So, read the abstract carefully and focus on the researchers’ precise <\/em>claim.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I do need to warn you: an abstract is often — well — rather abstract. The researchers are condesing hundreds of hours and thousands of words and data-points into a dense paragraph. The abstract will not delight you. But it will tell you what you need to know.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In this study<\/a>, the reseachers claim that a single session of Tetris reduces the frequency of intrusive memories<\/em> of traumatic events. Notice several limits here:<\/p>\n\n\n\n