Once a Bookworm, Always a Bookworm: Finding My Way Back to Reading

They say you never forget your first love—and for me, that’s books. From sneaking Sweet Valley Twins into my school bag in Grade 3 to devouring Harry Potter and Twilight as a teen, reading has always been my safe place. But somewhere along the way, adulthood pulled me away. For years, I thought I had lost that part of myself… until one story brought me back.

My love for books began in Grade 3 with Sweet Valley Twins and Sweet Valley High. Soon after came Nancy Drew, who fueled my love for mystery and adventure. As I grew older, my shelves evolved with me—Harry Potter brought magic and a sense of belonging, while Twilight filled my teenage and young adult years with late-night binges and endless debates over Edward versus Jacob. Around that time, I also felt like I personally knew Becky Bloomwood from the Shopaholic series, her quirks, her charm, and her chaos made her feel like a friend I grew up with.

Then adulthood and well.. life happened. Work, responsibilities, and the weight of everyday life pushed reading aside. I also got married and had 3 kids. The girl who once stayed up until 3 a.m. with a book suddenly didn’t have the time and energy, to read at all. For a while, I thought maybe I had outgrown that part of me. 

some of my 2-year old book haul

But recently, I’ve found my way back. It all started when I was going through the heavy fog of postpartum blues. I felt like I had lost myself—that I was only “a mother” and no longer my own person. In that search to feel whole again, I looked back at the things that once made me truly happy. Reading was one of them. Picking up a book again felt like reconnecting with a forgotten part of myself, a reminder that beyond the roles I carry, I am still me—someone who finds joy, escape, and comfort in stories. I grabbed a copy of The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo because I saw a news clip that it'll be made into a movie. I enjoyed it and started looking for the best selling books right away. Romantasy books like Fourth Wing and A Court of Thorns and 

Roses reignited my love for losing myself in new worlds. This time, though, I read with more maturity—savoring not just the story, but the emotions, growth, and imperfect love woven into the pages. I also discovered Ana Huang and Ali Hazelwood, whose witty and heartfelt romances (and spicy!) feel modern, empowering, and deeply relatable. 

I see now that being a bookworm was never just a childhood phase. It’s a part of me that simply waited for the right time to return—reminding me that books will always be my escape, my comfort, and my way of seeing the world a little more brightly.

Now that I’m a mother, I find myself hoping my kids will discover the same joy in books that I did. We started reading to them early, turning bedtime stories into a special ritual that feels like a gentle bridge between their world and mine. In an age ruled by screens, I know it’s important to set the example, that books can be more than just pages, they can be friends, adventures, and comfort. Seeing my middle child begin to enjoy reading on their own fills me with so much quiet pride; it feels like passing down a part of my heart. Because at the end of the day, it’s not just about raising readers—it’s about showing our kids that stories are meant to be lived, shared, and cherished, and that the joy of reading can belong to all of us.