Finding My Way Back to Reading—and Back to Myself
How burnout, caregiving, the public library, and Black literature helped me begin rebuilding a reading life that fits the person I am now.
For a long time, I kept saying that I wanted to get back into reading.
Not reading articles, because I read those every day. I can fall down an article rabbit hole on my phone with no problem. I mean sitting down with an actual book. Holding it in my hands. Turning the pages. Getting pulled into somebody else’s world long enough to quiet everything happening in mine.
But every time I thought about reading again, the same thought came up: When would I even have time?
Life had become so filled with responsibilities, stress, caregiving, financial strain, burnout, and everything that needed my attention that hobbies started to feel like something reserved for people with fewer problems.
Then I realized I did not really have hobbies anymore.
And honestly, that realization was deeper than simply being bored or needing something fun to do.
I had become so consumed by everything and everyone outside of me that I had lost track of the things that once made me feel like myself. Some passions had quietly disappeared from my life, and I could not even identify when I had stopped doing them.
I used to have a pretty nice book collection. Today, I cannot even tell you exactly what happened to it. Did I donate the books? Did they get left behind during a move? Did I give them away over time?
I truly do not know.
That bothered me because the missing books represented something bigger. They were evidence of a version of me who had interests, routines, curiosity, and space for herself.
So I started revisiting some of the things I used to love.
Not because I wanted to force myself backward or pretend I was still the same person, but because I needed to know what still belonged to me. I wanted to figure out which interests I had genuinely outgrown and which ones had simply been buried beneath survival mode.
Some things no longer resonated.
Others gave me that familiar little spark.
That feeling of, Oh.
There you are.
Reading was one of those things.
I Never Stopped Loving Books
Even when I was not actively reading, I never stopped loving books as objects.
I love how a book feels in my hands—the smell of the pages, the weight of it, the cover design, the typography, and the tiny details that make you pick up one book instead of another.
And listen, I absolutely judge books by their covers. A good cover will have me halfway to the register before I have read the description.
But loving books and actually finishing them were two different things.
Burnout had affected my ability to focus. I could read shorter pieces online, but sitting with a full chapter sometimes felt more difficult than it used to. My mind would wander. I would reread the same paragraph. I would think about everything I needed to do and eventually put the book down.
I did not want to turn reading into another task I was failing to complete.
I needed a gentler way back.
The Library Helped Open the Door
Part of that return happened while taking my niece and nephew to the public library.
They frequent the library, so I started spending more time there with them. That eventually led me to look into what libraries offer now, because a lot has changed since the years when I regularly used one.
I got a library card again and started exploring.
Then I discovered the library sale section.
Girl.
There were books I had wanted to buy but could not justify purchasing at full price, especially while dealing with financial strain. But when books are sitting there for one, two, or three dollars, suddenly the situation changes.
At that price, I could take a chance on an unfamiliar author. I could buy an older title that had caught my attention. I could slowly rebuild a personal library without pretending I had unlimited money.
The library also gave me access to audiobooks, which became especially important after I canceled Audible.
Because who has an extra subscription lying around when the budget is already stretched?
Audiobooks through the library reminded me that reading does not have to happen in only one format. Listening to a book still allows me to experience the language, story, characters, and ideas. And when I want the physical experience too, I can listen to the audiobook while following along in the printed book.
That combination helps hold my attention when focusing is difficult.
Paired reading and listening has been used in different educational settings to support fluency, comprehension, pronunciation, and attention. I remembered doing something similar in elementary school, although I cannot remember the exact reason it was introduced to us.
What matters now is that it works for me.
Sometimes returning to a hobby is not about forcing yourself to do it the way you used to. Sometimes you need new tools for the person you are now.
Why I Am Centering Black Authors
As I started returning to books, I also became more intentional about what I wanted to read.
We are living in a time when Black history, Black thought, and the freedoms our ancestors fought for are being challenged, minimized, and treated as though they are disposable.
That reality makes me want to move closer to Black literature—not farther away from it.
I want to pour into the books, stories, ideas, imaginations, and art that Black people have created and continue to create.
Our thoughts matter.
Our imagination matters.
Our creativity matters.
Our minds matter.
We matter.
Centering Black authors is not about refusing to read anyone else. I enjoy literature from many different cultures, backgrounds, and perspectives, and I expect that those books will still appear here.
But when I look back at the books that have touched me most deeply throughout my life, the majority were written by Black authors.
Those books have made me feel recognized. They have made me laugh, grieve, question things, remember things, and understand parts of myself and my community differently.
Black literature holds our joy, mess, humor, relationships, history, fear, sensuality, grief, family dynamics, spiritual questions, political realities, and wildest imaginations.
It reminds us that we have never been one story.
What This Space Will Be
This is not going to be a space where I pretend to be a literary scholar or perform intelligence for the internet.
I want this to feel more like a personal book club.
We are going to talk about the books I am reading, the books I am collecting, the books I find at library sales and thrift stores, and the books I am still searching for.
We are going to revisit Black books from past decades, especially stories that deserve to be read again instead of constantly being replaced by whatever is newest.
I will share new and debut Black authors too, because discovering what Black writers are creating right now is part of the joy.
There may be audiobooks, beautiful covers, unexpected library finds, affordable ways to build a collection, books that changed my perspective, books that disappointed me, and books I simply could not put down.
I also want to talk about building a reading life when your time, focus, energy, or money is limited.
Because reading should not belong only to people who can spend hundreds of dollars on books, finish a novel every two days, or create perfectly styled reading routines.
Sometimes reading looks like twenty minutes before bed.
Sometimes it is an audiobook playing while you clean, crochet, sew, journal, or try to get your life together.
Sometimes it is reading along with the audio because your brain needs a little extra support that day.
It all counts.
So if you’re not trying to become the reader I used to be.
That version of you existed during a different season of life.
Building a reading practice that fits who you are now—your brain, your responsibilities, your finances, your interests, and the amount of energy you actually have.
And maybe that is what returning to yourself really looks like.
You do not always recover the exact person you were before life got heavy. Sometimes you meet a new version of yourself who still loves some of the same things but needs to experience them differently.
So this is my welcome back to reading.
Welcome back to Black stories, curiosity, imagination, beautiful covers, library aisles, cheap book-sale treasures, and the quiet pleasure of turning a page.