Ever since I learned to read I’ve been a bookworm.
Every night from the age of about six, after I’d been put to bed and my parents thought I was asleep I would be reading. I had a ‘My Little Pony’ nightlight that I’d been bought so that I wouldn’t be scared of the dark and I spent hours reading in the dim, pinky glow.
It’s probably part of the reason that my eyesight is so bad and has been for years..
When asked what I wanted for my birthday or Christmas I would reel off a list of books or ask for vouchers for my favorite book shops. This made me quite easy to shop for but also quite predictable.
Reading was my escape from the world; the trials of growing up, the stress of exams and the knowledge that I didn’t have many friends. Break-time became so much easier when I realised that the teachers would let me sit in the corner of the playground with a book.
When I went off to university and was dealing with my diagnosis of depression, having to leave home and desperately missing my family and the Northern One, books gave me solace and comfort when I couldn’t find it anywhere else. Even if I had a day where I couldn’t get out of bed, such was the weight of my sadness and anxiety, having a book to read in bed helped me to manage my feelings and feel as though I’d not wasted the day.
I would spend hours in bookshops, perusing the shelves and breathing in the wonderful smell of new paper, even if I didn’t have any money to actually buy anything. It always felt acceptable to be on my own in a bookshop, in a way that didn’t extend to the cinema or cafes or other places that you find in a university town.
The Northern One shares my love of books as well as my penchant for a good fantasy novel; the more monsters and magic the better. It used to give me a bizarre boost to my self-esteem to be able to lend him books and introduce him to authors that he’d not yet read.
Reading that sentence back to myself makes it seem as though my self-worth is dependent upon the Northern One but that’s not true. It was just that I came across so many people who thought I was strange or boring or downright miserable that being able to share my interests helped me to remember that the bad things that were said about me just weren’t true.
One of the worst things about being depressed during my pregnancy was that I couldn’t read. Books that I’d been waiting for months for them to finally be published failed to provide me with the escape I so longed for or even capture my interest.
I would pick up my kindle only to put it down again before I’d even switched it on and stand in front of our (numerous) bookshelves reading the titles over and over but unable to settle on a book to actually read. If I did actually attempt to read something I would find that I couldn’t make sense of the words; the familiar black type suddenly became alien and the words would twist and struggle out of my grasp, their meanings eluding me.
Rarely have I felt so utterly abandoned and alone as I did (and do) when my ability to read left me.
Throughout my pregnancy I continued to buy books, mostly from charity and second hand shops. In some small way, browsing through the shelves and telling myself that the books I chose were for me to read when I was better did help.
In the last couple of weeks (since changing me medication) I’ve found myself able to read. I was so excited I had to write about it and to try and help me read each week I thought I’d write a weekly post about the things I’ve read.
Below I’ve listed mine and Squidge’s favourite books of the past week, my favourite blog posts from the blogs I read regularly and my favourite post from each of the linkys that I link up with each week.
My favourite book –
‘Innocent Blood’ by PD James
I don’t usually read crime thrillers but this story about an adopted teenager who finds her birth Mother and the shocking reasons as to why she was adopted had me hooked.
Squidge’s favourite book –
‘My Heart is Like a Zoo’ by Michael Hall
This is a beautifully illustrated book that helps to children about thoughts, feelings and emotions. Squidge made me read it to him three times one evening.
Another beautiful and emotional piece by Leigh Kendall, talking about reading to her son Hugo and the books they donated to the neonatal unit where he was cared for.
Mrs H started blogging for many of the same reasons that I did and this post talks about how her blog has helped her over the last three years.
I always wear a scarf because they’re useful for so many different things, as Farmers Wife and Mummy demonstrates.
A lovely account of the day Mumma Scribbles found out that she was pregnant with her son.
The Truth About
Misplaced Brit talks about the perils of owning a pet but how they also teach children about death.
A hilarious insight into the mind of a toddler by Motherhood the Real Deal
Brilliant Blog Posts
Not a Frumpy Mum writes an emotional letter to her baby who may never be.
Having all day nausea was bad enough but Odd Socks and Lollipops gives an insight into how much worse it can be.
Clearly inappropriate use of parent and child parking spaces annoys Monkey and Mouse as much as it does me.
I love Game of Thrones and this list by Stopping at Two made me giggle.
My Best Post of the Week
If I ever have a daughter I will definitely be giving her some of the advice given by A Quirky Kook.
Posts about anxiety and depression always catch my attention, like this one by Mummy in Training.
The Week That Was Captured
I think Tiny Footsteps was so brave to do something she was afraid of and then blog about it.
I’ll be writing this post each week (hopefully) but let me know if you think I should maybe turn it into a linky.