Motherhood, exhaustion, and holding on to the reader within
So much of who I am revolves around my love of books. In a way, it’s a major part of my identity (Steph The Bookworm, anyone?). That love of reading led me to my career as a public librarian, and my huge home library is a major factor in any future home purchase or move. For real.
My whole family and I plan to move to a more rural area in a couple of years, and an extra room for my library isn’t just a wishlist item — it’s a requirement. (And yes, our current home has that extra library room. Don’t you worry.) When I told my dad I wanted 2,000 square feet and he asked why, I didn’t miss a beat with my answer.
But what happens when, for whatever reason or season you’re in, reading falls to the wayside?
Right now, I am utterly exhausted. I remember the fatigue from my first pregnancy with Caleb, but it was nothing like this. Maybe that’s because I was only working part-time then and not wrangling a toddler. Now? I work full time and wrangle a toddler. Maybe the symptoms are just different. Whatever the reason, I get home from work with the desire to do absolutely nothing but sit, lie down, and sleep. Most nights, I’m in bed right after I put Caleb down at 7:30.
Reading requires energy and focus — otherwise you get lost in the story, confused by the lines you keep re-reading without absorbing a word.
People often ask how I find the time to read, and honestly, it’s a little offensive — much like when someone says they “just don’t have time to read.” Well… sure you do. You’re just using that time on other things: TV, video games, working out, sewing. And that’s totally fine! We all make time for the things we prioritize. But maybe next time I’ll turn the question around and ask, “Well, how do you find the time to watch TV?”
(No shade — I love TV too.)
My reading time has been limited ever since becoming a mom, and the bulk of it happens in bed after Caleb’s asleep. Once he was a few months old, I found my groove again and have managed to finish 2–3 books a month since — mostly nighttime reading. But lately, even that’s been hard. Some nights I can barely get through a few pages before I’m out.
It’s not a lack of time. It’s a lack of energy.
This exhaustion is creeping into every part of my life: I’m going out less. I’ve stopped grocery shopping in the evenings. I’m constantly trying to drag myself to the gym. I’m behind on reading blogs. I stay home more and more in favor of early bedtimes. I know it’s temporary, and I’m not complaining — but it’s hard to feel like yourself when you can’t do the things that make you you.
When I’m not reading, I feel a little lost. Maybe even a little empty. Like I’m floating through life without a giant piece of the puzzle that makes me whole. I miss getting swept up in a story. I miss setting my own worries aside to get wrapped up in someone else’s. I miss connecting with people — even if they’re just characters on a page.
I don’t quite know who I am without books. I mean… I’m a wife, a mom, a librarian — but those are all roles. They’re me in relation to other people.
What about just me?
I know those things are incredibly important. Being a mom is the best thing I’ve ever done. But what about me as my own person? What about my interests, my passions, my hobbies?
I know the exhaustion will lift eventually. I’ll get some of my old mojo back. I’ll feel like myself again — instead of a car running on empty.
Until then, I’ll keep chipping away, a few pages at a time. Just enough to stay tethered. Just enough to remind myself of who I am, and who I’ll be again soon.
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