The Reader of the Month (and the Laundry That Waited)
Why and how I read so much, or what I quietly gave up along the way
There are few questions I dread more than: “How do you read so much?” It's often asked with a kind of perplexed amusement, like I’ve just admitted to collecting different editions of Wuthering Heights or naming my houseplants after doomed literary heroines (I would be guilty on both counts if I weren’t such a plant serial killer). The tone is never neutral. It ranges from admiration disguised as judgment to concern disguised as curiosity. And always, always, it makes me feel like I’ve been caught hoarding something suspicious in plain sight.
Here’s the thing: no one ever asks why someone scrolls so much. Or binge-watch Netflix until their eyes turn into thumbnails. But crack open a third book in a week and suddenly you’re either a genius or a cautionary tale, monk or a woman on the verge. At best, it’s quirky; at worst, it’s escapism gone rogue.
There’s a subtext, and the subtext is: what are you neglecting?
And here's the thing: they’re not wrong.
The obvious answer—the one I usually swallow like a pill too big for polite company—is that I read so much because I don’t do other things.
I don’t have a consistent gym routine or watch every show people are talking about (and I do watch a lot of TV shows). I don’t scroll endlessly (okay, not that endlessly). I don’t fold laundry when I could be finishing a chapter. I don’t have hobbies that involve glue guns or socialising in groups larger than three. I don’t fill every spare moment with something useful.
I read.
This isn’t a flex. It’s an accounting.
Reading is the thing I do because I’ve quietly opted out of a hundred other things. Not because I’m especially virtuous or productive or magically efficient (ha!), but because I’ve built my life around the act of reading in the same way others build theirs around gym routines or meal prep. It’s the spine that holds my days together. And really, it always has been.
I grew up reading as much as I could, often out loud, as if books weren’t just companions but co-conspirators. I was often named Reader of the Month at the school library, proudly bringing home my little laminated certificate like it was a trophy. And my parents never said no to a book, ever. Even when money was tight, they made room for book fair purchases, for Christmas hardbacks, for library detours. Our home was a house of shelves, and I knew even then how lucky I was.
I always had a book with me. Always. On holidays, during car rides, even at family lunches where I’d sneak away from the noise to read under the table, legs folded like origami. When I think of childhood, I don’t think of places—I think of pages. I carried stories with me like some children carry comfort blankets: for safety, for sanity, for the secret feeling that I belonged somewhere, even if that somewhere was fictional.
So no, reading isn’t something I’ve tacked on to an otherwise full life. It is the life. It’s how I move through the world, how I know where I end and begin again.
Reading is how I escape, yes. Of course it is. Wouldn’t you? It’s the most socially acceptable form of running away. It doesn’t wreck your liver, doesn’t require a passport, and you return smarter. Or at least with better metaphors.
But that doesn’t mean my days are perfectly bound. I’m a mother now—my time has teeth.
And still, I read. In five-minute bursts. In the dark. In the cracked silence between naps and cries and coffee gone cold. I read with a baby draped over my shoulder, while breastfeeding, while burping, while wondering if this is the moment she’ll finally nap without protest (reader: it isn’t).
Sometimes, I read because I want to write. Sometimes, I write just to make sense of what I’ve been reading toward. And I always read because it keeps me close to myself. Reading is not something I fit in. It’s something I make room for. On purpose. Which means saying no to a lot of other things—some of them necessary, some of them just noise.
Of course, no one wants to hear that. People ask how you do something, hoping for a secret technique: a reading app, a speed hack, a life-changing calendar block. They want to know if you listen to audiobooks at double speed while doing squats. Or if you skim. Or if you cheat.
The answer is usually disappointingly simple: I make time for books the way others make time for Real Housewives, Pilates, or doomscrolling.
So the next time someone asks how I read so much, I’ll try not to wince. I’ll try not to give the polite shrug or joke about insomnia.
I’ll say: “I read so much because it’s what I’ve chosen.”
That, and the laundry’s not getting folded anyway.
YOUR TURN
People love to ask how we manage to read so much—but maybe the better question is what we’ve chosen not to do. So tell me:
What do you say no to so you can say yes to books?
👇 Hit reply—I’m always curious what people quietly drop to make space for stories.
I finally finished the Survival trilogy, a dystopian series packed with action and a plot that sometimes feels like it wandered off a B movie set. It was ok. Now I’m diving into How to Read a Book by Mortimer J. Adler and Charles Van Doren, and I’m loving it. It breaks down the different levels of reading, from basic comprehension to deep analytical engagement, and even teaches you how to “talk” to a book — questioning, reflecting, and truly interacting with the text. It’s like a crash course in becoming a more intentional, curious reader.
I’m a proud paid subscriber to the wonderful Petya K. Grady’s newsletter A Reading Life, and I can’t recommend it enough. Here are a few of her posts I especially loved:
I’m also a proud paid subscriber to Closely Reading by Haley Larsen, and I’d love to recommend a few of her standout pieces:
If you enjoyed this issue, don’t forget to spread the word — the more, the merrier! I’d also love to hear your thoughts, so feel free to reach out. It helps keep this community growing and thriving.
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I really want to share my own reading kinks someday.
This is the one that tipped me over — I went from free to paid subscriber on the spot.
I never sleep until late. Morning time is reading and writing time 🙌🏻 I loved your post. Amazing reflection on how we should not be embarrassed to give up on what can be a priority to others.