Not so long ago, I wrote about how I got out of a multi-year reading slump. For a while, reading was the easiest thing in the world again. It felt amazing. Writing this blog didn't even put a dent in my energy, rather fed into it.
Imagine my frustration, then, to be struggling again. Where I could get through ten books in a particularly good month, now I'm fighting to get three read. Books that I would normally enjoy leave me cold and books I'm excited for (including a sequel to a beloved trilogy that I never expected to be published) can't entice me to even pick them up.
So what happened? It can't just be that I got a PS5.
The answer is obvious to anyone willing to give themselves even the smallest mental kindness: burnout.
2023 has been an annus horriblis for me. My hopes of escaping my oppressively small, falling-apart bedsit were iced by the catastrophic Liz Truss budget. Tendonitis in my hip had me starting the year barely able to walk. A colleague quit in Feb, leaving me picking up the slack, including several weeks where I was doing 10-12 hour days without breaks and still couldn't keep up with the workload. I began to work on my eating disorder, only for my efforts to fall apart because of stress, leaving me more miserable than ever. My long-term eye condition created a grape-sized cyst on my eyelid that affected my vision for months. My birthday (already spoiled three years in a row due to Covid) was cancelled because I got 'flu. Five months later I went down with my first ever Covid infection. In the midst of it all, my mother (my only close living relative, who needs a great deal of emotional support and is a literal hoarder) verbally attacked me, announced that she wanted to die, and told me she wanted me out of her life. I've spent much of the last six months both angry and desperately, unbearably alone. Then I got shingles. Also, the Tories are still in charge.
(In the time between writing the above and editing this, I got a stomach virus.)
At one point my therapist told me I was the most burned out patient she had seen. Ever.
So I recognise that it's hilariously unhealthy to be telling myself off for not reading enough books. Even if I read nothing else this year, I've read more than I have ever managed before, while also writing this blog and reading the same amount again (if not more) in fanfiction.
Fanfiction and fandom has been a source of comfort, helped by the excitement of Good Omens returning, but as with gaming and YouTube, the things I seek in my comfort are the things that don't tax my brain.
And, even though my brain is angrily screaming at me as I type this - there's nothing wrong with that.
If it was just about a desire for constant achievement, I think I'm balanced enough to be ok about a break, but there is real sadness too. I love reading, and am forever seeking the next book that will hijack my entire world for a few delightful hours. The same (though with a lot smaller misery-to-thrill ratio) can be said about writing. To lose that feeling for the sake of real-life drudgery is a terrible price to pay.
So what's the way forward?
Firstly, I won't be doing any reading challenges for the foreseeable. I will eventually finish the last book in my History Girl Summer (a guilt factor in much of my reading over the last few months) but at my own pace. I won't take on any reading challenges until I'm feeling better, including the December one I had vaguely planned out.
Secondly, I'm going into comfort reading mode. I won't worry about reading broadly, or smartly, or things that might make interesting blog posts. I won't pick up books out of guilt or duty. I'm reading whatever I want in the moment, whether that's ten murder mysteries in a row, or sexy romances, or vampires in space. No guilty pleasure is off limits.
I will (temporarily) stop considering any book I wander away from DNF'd. I can't trust my own brain to tell me what's good anymore and my inattention might not be the fault of the book. I'm also going to increase my audiobook budget, as dual listening/reading works well for me.
Ultimately the advice I gave in my previous piece about escaping a reading slump is still true - you have to look at the factors in your own individual life that have taken the joy out of reading, and make changes accordingly. I've recognised that it's happened again, and now I'm going to make those changes.
As for this blog... I'm actually feeling ok about it. This was always a place for me to get my book-related feelings out, without any worry about gaining an audience or any tangible metrics for success or failure.
By taking the pressure off and inviting in more joy, I may be around here more often.
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