Rediscovering my love of reading during lockdown has been one of the most unexpected silver linings of this strange time. Reading has always been my favourite way to unwind. Ever since I was a child I’ve never been too far away from a book. But for a long time, I took it for granted.
Like a favourite sweater, it was always there- even if it did look a bit threadbare. I could reach for it whenever I needed, sure that it would give me a few hours of joy, solace or simply a way to take my mind off real life for a little while. Until, well, until suddenly didn’t anymore.
I can’t even explain how it happened, but one day I woke up and realised I had absolutely zero interest in picking up a book that I had been enjoying only the previous day. As an avid reader, this came as a shock. Why had my love of reading disappeared so suddenly? And, crucially, when would it come back?
Reader. It did not come back.
The Wasteland
For three solid months from March to May, I struggled to read anything. I tried all the tips and tricks in my arsenal to rekindle my love of reading, from re-reading an old favourite to trying a new genre and whilst I could make myself read these books, the joy was missing. And what’s the point of reading if you don’t enjoy it?
I’m sure the eagle-eyed amongst you will have noticed that my reading rut began almost exactly at the same time as the majority of the world went into lockdown. I don’t think that was a coincidence.
From mid-March when the UK announced its lockdown I, like many people, went into survival mode, it took all my energy just to process what was happening. Could we get enough food? Would things get worse? Were the people I loved going to be okay? Even at this distance, it’s getting hard to remember just how stressful and scary those early days of lockdown really were. But I do remember thinking how pointless reading felt. How much of waste of time it seemed.
Pride and a Little Prejudice
It’s funny the things we tell ourselves isn’t it? You’d think that during the most stressful year of our lives, turning to the things we love would be obvious. When you have a ready built coping mechanism why wouldn’t you use it? In the moment it felt vital to prove that every second of the day was productive or focused on the important things! And when the world was in crisis, why did I deserve to enjoy reading?
Of course, that negative self-talk is always a toxic route to go down. We all deserve joy and happiness, even when the world feels out of control. Especially when the world feels out of control. But I got stuck in a cycle of negativity. Reading didn’t feel right, and if it wasn’t right I wouldn’t do it at all. What can I say? I guess the perfectionist Virgo in me really went wild! I was too proud to admit that reading could be a simple thing.
I remember a conversation I had with my dad at this time where I was describing losing my love of reading. I take it seriously, I told him, I like to analyse and read a book deeply. I can’t just skin a book. It’s not a relaxing hobby. Pretentious much?! As an advocate of reading for the pleasure, it brings it shocked me to realise my own prejudices during this time. Why, when I was busy encouraging people to read for the love of reading was I refusing to extend this attitude to myself? And how had I got to a point where reading for the sake of reading wasn’t good
enough? It was time for a break.
A Room With a View
They say a change is as a good as a rest don’t they? After that conversation with my dad, I decided to step away from reading for a while. I’d been putting pressure on it for so long it no longer felt like a hobby it felt like a chore. So I logged out of Instagram and I took a much-needed step back.
Instead of reaching for books on autopilot, I decided to recharge myself in new ways. I experimented with video editing. Began learning to watercolour. I even finally decorated my flat a bit, adding art to the walls that really inspired me. Then I played The Sims for hours, and hours, and hours!
Strangely enough, by filling my creative cup in other ways, I started to miss reading. But not the reading I had been doing. The reading that was tied to tallying off numbers on my Goodreads list and having new books to share on Instagram. The reading that made me look for ‘important’ books instead of ones that actually interested me.
Instead, I started nostalgically remembering my childhood reading where I’d greedily grab a book and cocoon myself away until I finished it. Of reading, until I was bleary-eyed in the wee hours of the morning and waking up drained but strangely fulfilled, my head whirring with a story I couldn’t put down. Could I have that again, I wondered?
The History of Love
If you love something, sometimes you have to let it go in order to give it a chance to come back stronger. Absence makes the heart grow fonder. I’m sure you’re familiar with these well-worn phrases but, you know, they exist for a reason! After the dust of lockdown settled the pressure I had been feeling to be productive and alert subsided into a wish to lean into the simple pleasures of a slower pace of life.
I found myself taking extra time to do things ‘properly’. Instead of making a cup of tea, I brewed a pot. I made soup from scratch instead of just opening a tin! I put emphasis on creating an environment for myself that brought pleasure and inspiration. The only thing that was missing was reading.
When something has been a part of your life for so long living without it feels strange. There was a book-shaped hole in my life that had never been there before. I leant into that. I started craving a good reading session but I deliberately didn’t do it. It may sound perverse but when I started reading again I wanted it to be the only thing in the world I wanted to do in that moment.
The President’s Hat
Then, one day, quite naturally I picked up a book. The President’s Hat by Antoine Laurain, if you’re interested. It was a small book and it felt ludicrously light in my hand. I was planning my first trip to the beach since lockdown began to ease and I decided to put it in my bag. I won’t read it, I thought, but I’ll bring it anyway. For the whole journey to the beach, that book glowed like a talisman in my bag. “Read me!” It urged. Who am I to resist an order like that?!
I opened it up tentatively, but before I knew it I had read almost a quarter of the book. Time suspended I lost myself in the whimsical story of a magic hat and its wearers. I inhaled that book. By the time we got home from the beach, I had nearly finished. It felt exhilarating. I could feel that old joy sleepily awakening.
After that, the floodgates opened. I was excited to read- I couldn’t wait to start a new book. I greedily grabbed Hamnet by Maggie O’Farrell from my shelf and wept my way through one of the most beautiful books I’ve ever read. Would I have loved it half as much without my break? I don’t know. But I can tell you this, getting lost in those pages felt like coming home. The joy of well written passage, the intense wish to find out what happens next. It all came crashing back. I hadn’t realised how numbed my love of reading had actually become.
Rediscovering My Love of Reading
In giving it up entirely, I gave myself the chance to rediscover my love of reading all over again. But I also learned a much-needed lesson. In life, there are things you have to do and things you want to do- reading should always be the latter.
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Kathy Hamilton 
For three solid months from March to May, I struggled to read anything. I tried all the tips and tricks in my arsenal to rekindle my love of reading, from re-reading an old favourite to trying a new genre and whilst I could make myself read these books, the joy was missing. And what’s the point of reading if you don’t enjoy it?
I’m sure the eagle-eyed amongst you will have noticed that my reading rut began almost exactly at the same time as the majority of the world went into lockdown. I don’t think that was a coincidence.
From mid-March when the UK announced its lockdown I, like many people, went into survival mode, it took all my energy just to process what was happening. Could we get enough food? Would things get worse? Were the people I loved going to be okay? Even at this distance, it’s getting hard to remember just how stressful and scary those early days of lockdown really were. But I do remember thinking how pointless reading felt. How much of waste of time it seemed.
It’s funny the things we tell ourselves isn’t it? You’d think that during the most stressful year of our lives, turning to the things we love would be obvious. When you have a ready built coping mechanism why wouldn’t you use it? In the moment it felt vital to prove that every second of the day was productive or focused on the important things! And when the world was in crisis, why did I deserve to enjoy reading?
Of course, that negative self-talk is always a toxic route to go down. We all deserve joy and happiness, even when the world feels out of control. Especially when the world feels out of control. But I got stuck in a cycle of negativity. Reading didn’t feel right, and if it wasn’t right I wouldn’t do it at all. What can I say? I guess the perfectionist Virgo in me really went wild! I was too proud to admit that reading could be a simple thing.
I remember a conversation I had with my dad at this time where I was describing losing my love of reading. I take it seriously, I told him, I like to analyse and read a book deeply. I can’t just skin a book. It’s not a relaxing hobby. Pretentious much?! As an advocate of reading for the pleasure, it brings it shocked me to realise my own prejudices during this time. Why, when I was busy encouraging people to read for the love of reading was I refusing to extend this attitude to myself? And how had I got to a point where reading for the sake of reading wasn’t good
enough? It was time for a break.
They say a change is as a good as a rest don’t they? After that conversation with my dad, I decided to step away from reading for a while. I’d been putting pressure on it for so long it no longer felt like a hobby it felt like a chore. So I logged out of Instagram and I took a much-needed step back.
Instead of reaching for books on autopilot, I decided to recharge myself in new ways. I experimented with video editing. Began learning to watercolour. I even finally decorated my flat a bit, adding art to the walls that really inspired me. Then I played The Sims for hours, and hours, and hours!
Strangely enough, by filling my creative cup in other ways, I started to miss reading. But not the reading I had been doing. The reading that was tied to tallying off numbers on my Goodreads list and having new books to share on Instagram. The reading that made me look for ‘important’ books instead of ones that actually interested me.
Instead, I started nostalgically remembering my childhood reading where I’d greedily grab a book and cocoon myself away until I finished it. Of reading, until I was bleary-eyed in the wee hours of the morning and waking up drained but strangely fulfilled, my head whirring with a story I couldn’t put down. Could I have that again, I wondered?
If you love something, sometimes you have to let it go in order to give it a chance to come back stronger. Absence makes the heart grow fonder. I’m sure you’re familiar with these well-worn phrases but, you know, they exist for a reason! After the dust of lockdown settled the pressure I had been feeling to be productive and alert subsided into a wish to lean into the simple pleasures of a slower pace of life.
I found myself taking extra time to do things ‘properly’. Instead of making a cup of tea, I brewed a pot. I made soup from scratch instead of just opening a tin! I put emphasis on creating an environment for myself that brought pleasure and inspiration. The only thing that was missing was reading.
When something has been a part of your life for so long living without it feels strange. There was a book-shaped hole in my life that had never been there before. I leant into that. I started craving a good reading session but I deliberately didn’t do it. It may sound perverse but when I started reading again I wanted it to be the only thing in the world I wanted to do in that moment.
Then, one day, quite naturally I picked up a book. The President’s Hat by Antoine Laurain, if you’re interested. It was a small book and it felt ludicrously light in my hand. I was planning my first trip to the beach since lockdown began to ease and I decided to put it in my bag. I won’t read it, I thought, but I’ll bring it anyway. For the whole journey to the beach, that book glowed like a talisman in my bag. “Read me!” It urged. Who am I to resist an order like that?!
I opened it up tentatively, but before I knew it I had read almost a quarter of the book. Time suspended I lost myself in the whimsical story of a magic hat and its wearers. I inhaled that book. By the time we got home from the beach, I had nearly finished. It felt exhilarating. I could feel that old joy sleepily awakening.
After that, the floodgates opened. I was excited to read- I couldn’t wait to start a new book. I greedily grabbed Hamnet by Maggie O’Farrell from my shelf and wept my way through one of the most beautiful books I’ve ever read. Would I have loved it half as much without my break? I don’t know. But I can tell you this, getting lost in those pages felt like coming home. The joy of well written passage, the intense wish to find out what happens next. It all came crashing back. I hadn’t realised how numbed my love of reading had actually become.
