The hardest thing I’ve ever done in World of Warcraft—no, scratch that—the hardest thing I’ve ever done in life (including the time I tried to move house while pregnant) was leveling a priest in Holy spec to max level in Vanilla WoW. Nowadays, you kids have it easy. You can just change specs for free without having to sell your soul and entire collection of herbs to pay for respec costs. But back then? Nope. You picked your spec, and you committed to it like it was a marriage contract signed in blood.

And let me tell you, leveling as a holy priest was like trying to win a marathon in flip-flops. While dragging a cart of bricks. Uphill. In the rain.

Let’s paint the scene:

You’re level 30, still wearing that sad robe you got in the Deadmines because, let’s be real, Blizzard didn’t believe in giving priests any decent gear until level 60. You’ve got your trusty wand (because wands were the true weapon of a holy priest) and your spellbook full of healing spells… to fight mobs.

Me: “Alright, mob. Prepare yourself. I’m about to heal you to death!”

Every. Single. Mob. Takes. Forever. To. Kill.

Your holy spells tickle enemies at best. Smite? More like Mildly Inconvenience. Holy Fire? Should’ve been called Holy Flare, because it sure as hell wasn’t burning anyone down anytime soon.

Me, casting Holy Fire:

“Take that! Burn in holy flames!”

Mob: “Did you just throw a warm hug at me?”

The dynamic of a holy healer in Vanilla WoW was simple:

• Holy spells: great for healing.

• Damage spells: non-existent.

• Wands: your only actual weapon.

I wasn’t a priest. I was a glorified mage who forgot to bring her offensive spells.

Every fight was a test of endurance. I’d pull one mob. One. No chain-pulling here, no AoE spam. Just one sad, lonely mob at a time. I’d cast Holy Fire (which, by the way, had a cast time long enough for me to reconsider all my life choices), follow it up with Smite (which did about the same amount of damage as a slap on the wrist), and then whittle down its health with my trusty wand. And by “whittle down,” I mean “spend the next five minutes trying to remember why I ever rolled a priest.”

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And don’t get me started on mana. Oh, the mana. Every two mobs, I’d be out of mana, sitting down to drink. That’s right. A priest drinking water like they’re hydrating for the Azerothian Olympics.

Me: “Okay, one more mob… Let me just—OH WAIT, out of mana again.”

Mob: “It’s cool. I’ll just wait here while you have a snack. I’m in no rush to die.”

When I wasn’t dying from boredom or mana starvation, I was dying for real. Because, guess what? A holy priest in Vanilla WoW wore cloth. We had about as much durability as a wet tissue in a rainstorm. And since our healing spells were so weak, it wasn’t like we could just heal our way out of a fight.

Me, getting ganked by two mobs: “I can handle this, I’m a priest, I have healing spells!”

Mobs laugh as they tear through my fragile, tissue-paper health bar

Me: “Wait, wait, I was kidding—OH GOD WHY IS EVERYTHING SO PAINFUL?!”

By the time I hit level 60, I’d lost count of how many mobs had laughed in my face, how many times I had to drink mana potions like they were going out of style, and how many moments I spent questioning my life choices.

But you know what the real kicker is? Despite all that torture, all the slow leveling, the endless deaths, and mana breaks—I now have five priests at max level.

And let’s not forget the joy of dungeon runs. LFG for Scholomance was always a thrill. I’d proudly show up in my Devout set, feeling like the crème de la crème of holy gear. My shoulders? So amazing they practically had their own fan club. The Devout Mantle: so divine it was practically canonized.

And every time we pulled a boss, I was desperately trying not to do a Leeroy Jenkins. Because when you’re a holy priest, the last thing you want is to get a reputation for running in without a plan. And, of course, every single pull was a tactical masterpiece of banter and strategy.

Me, in party chat: “Alright, folks, remember to stay back, don’t pull the room, and for the love of all things holy, don’t make me heal you through your stupidity!”

Party member: “Got it! No Leeroy Jenkins here!”

Me: *“Famous last words…”

As I painstakingly healed through each dungeon, managing to keep everyone alive through sheer willpower and possibly divine intervention, I couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. Even when it took me another 421 tries at Scholomance before finally getting that shiny Ancient Bone Bow, I had to chuckle. Because leveling a priest in holy was the kind of challenge that only made the rewards sweeter, and the journey unforgettable.

And through it all, every dungeon, every laugh, every fail—it was all worth it for those epic moments with my friends and those glorious, ridiculous, holy priest victories.