Books Saved My Life

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Books saved my life. Plural. You didn't read that wrong, I don't mean I read one specific piece and had some sort of instant connection or epiphany. No the moment I was able to understand words strung together in sentences, I read ferociously. I read unapologetically. Anything I could get my hands on. I still do. And they've all meant something to me–escape.

I grew up an only child that moved a fair amount. I was too smart for my own good, and I knew my own mind from an early age. It made me different. I did what I wanted, peer pressure be damned. Not that I was completely immune to it. I fell prey to wanting the trendy shoes or the hair cut every girl had, but I often didn't get them anyway.

My family was dysfunctional and toxic. The most constant people in my life were my grandparents. And it was a time when electronics were not huge parts of life. We had basic TV channels, and I was able to watch shows here and there but that was it.

Reading was my ticket to another life. One where I wasn't lonely or scared all the time. No one could come with me. It was just me and the characters for as long as I could stay gone. They were my home, my champions, my friends.

I read so much, I was forced to reread or stay in reality. In fact, I have reread a ton in my adult life too. I love to revisit worlds that have welcomed me with open arms. There are a handful of series I've completed over ten times.

In the course of my forty-nine years, I've read thousands of books, and all of them have offered me a place free from judgement or pressure or stress. I can just be me, swept away on adventures that carry me through to the next time we meet. There is not a day that goes by that I fail to read something.

So this is a love letter to all the authors out there that keep going, keep writing, and continue to offer me sanctuary in the wonderful worlds they've decided to share. I hope to do that someday for someone else. Thank you.