Somewhere between growing up, going to school, chasing degrees, starting a career, and becoming a mom, I stopped reading. Not entirely—I’d pick up a book here and there, usually something for work or something I swore I’d get through on vacation. But the habit of curling up with a book just because I wanted to? That quietly slipped away.
Lately though, I’ve been feeling the pull back into reading, almost like reconnecting with an old friend. Maybe it’s because I’m tired of staring at my phone, maybe it’s because I want to model a love of books for my son, or maybe it’s because I just miss the escape. There’s something so grounding about holding a book in your hands and letting your brain travel somewhere else for a while.
It feels a little awkward at first, starting again. I’ll read a page and then realize I’m already thinking about my to-do list, or I’ll tell myself I don’t have the time. But the truth is, I do have the time—I just have to choose it. So I’ve been sneaking in chapters during nap time, flipping through pages before bed instead of scrolling, and slowly reminding myself what it feels like to get lost in a story.
What’s funny is how natural it feels once you start again. Like your brain remembers exactly how to sink into words and images and emotions. I forgot how much I missed it until I opened that first book and felt myself relax in a way no screen has ever given me.
So here I am, starting to read again. Not with a plan or a perfect reading list, but just with the intention of finding joy in it again. And I can’t help but wonder—anybody else starting to read again, too?
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