I’ve been a bookworm before I could even comprehend words on a page. I love to read. In school, I was that kid that always carried a book around and read under her desk. Even when I wasn’t in school, I would carry a book with me everywhere I went. Every purse or bag I had had to be big enough for my current book of choice. I would read under my little reading light deep into the night, hiding under my covers and pretending to be asleep when my parents came to check on me.

I couldn’t stay away, I had to read. It was the only thing I really wanted to do.

I used to be able to fly through books like it was nothing. And I’m talking sizable novels, too. In my reading prime, I could get through multiple books a week. I used to walk up the hill to my local library every week or so, and I’d leave with my bag so overflowing with books that I could hardly carry it back home. I would pack four or more books for a week-long vacation.

Every summer the library would have a reading challenge to read fifteen books by the end of the summer and win a coupon booklet. I’d always finish by the end of July. Getting a nook as a middle schooler and being able to have so many books with me at once was like a dream.

But in the last few years, especially since starting college, I haven’t been reading as much. I don’t remember the last time I read a book for pleasure, and I can probably count all such books I’ve read in the last year or so on my two hands, which is a complete disappointment for me.

Adult life has just made it so much harder for me to do the thing that has sustained me all my life. I have a lot to do and more responsibilities to take care of, and there’s a lot less time. And I’m an English major, so I’m doing a lot of reading for my classwork. So when I finish my work and I have some free time, I’m absolutely exhausted, and my eyes can’t focus on a page even if I want to. So I usually end up watching Netflix or something instead of picking up a book.

I feel like I’m betraying myself. Reading is such a huge part of who I am. I probably have enough books at home to fill three full bookshelves, and I want to collect more, if only I had unlimited funds to buy all the books I want. But I simply don’t have the time or energy to do all that reading anymore. I want to go back to the days where I could go through three books a week. Where all I wanted to do was be absolutely sucked into that world and not come out until it was over. I feel like a liar, and ten-year-old me is so incredibly disappointed in adult me.

But that’s what adult life is, isn’t it? It sucks, and you simply can’t indulge in the things you loved doing as a kid, even if that thing is a major part of who you are. But that doesn’t mean you can’t go back, or that it’s not you anymore.