Confessions of a Bookaholic

Some call me a bookworm, but honestly, it goes far beyond that.

I need books almost as much as I need air. Some of my closest friends and greatest mentors can be found within the pages of my most cherished books. They have seen me through difficult times, offering comfort and inspiration to pursue my dreams.

Perhaps it’s more accurate to say that I am a bookaholic.

The other night, I found myself imagining that I was attending a Bookaholics Anonymous meeting with others just like me. I sat quietly at first, listening to others share their stories, nodding in understanding as they spoke. Then, suddenly, it was my turn to stand and introduce myself.

“Um… Ahem… Hi. My name is Julia, and I guess you could say that I… um… am a bookaholic. Whew! There, I said it.”

It’s really no surprise, considering the home I grew up in. Every room had floor-to-ceiling bookshelves packed with hundreds of books on every topic imaginable. I watched my mom, dad, and older brothers immerse themselves in reading long before I picked up a book myself. They seemed to enjoy it so much that when they weren’t reading, they were often discussing what they’d read.

My own journey into reading wasn’t easy. When I first tried to read on my own, I was so slow that it was more frustrating than enjoyable. I’d end up with a headache and a heavy dose of self-doubt. Determined to overcome this, I found a reading program my parents had bought for my brother (who never used it) and tucked myself away in a quiet room. A few weeks later, I could finally read fluently—and the euphoria was unmatched!

My family leaned towards heavier reads—nonfiction on finances, religion, biographies, and history—while my brothers were more into light, entertaining science fiction and fantasy. I, however, loved everything. Whether it was religion, government, history, myths, or fairy tales, I devoured it all. My absolute favorites, though, were myths, legends, and fairy tales from every culture. I could read the same stories retold a thousand different ways and never tire of them.

Soon, the books at home weren’t enough. Thankfully, we lived near a well-stocked library, and I started bringing home books by the backpack full. My mom grew concerned when I’d wake up early to read, skip meals, or stay up all night under the covers with a flashlight. She eventually had to impose some boundaries: bedtime routines, meals, outdoor time, and social interactions became priorities. Even then, I still managed to read a couple of books a week.

College didn’t help. With no parental oversight and easy access to books, I plunged right back into reading—often late at night. Eventually, I hit a wall and had to slow down. Life got busier with marriage and kids, and I found little time to read. Carrying my favorite books everywhere didn’t work either, as they became worn and dog-eared. My husband, noticing my reading withdrawal, gifted me a tablet. Suddenly, I could carry hundreds of ebooks and read during late-night nursing sessions without disturbing anyone. My addiction went hardcore from there!

Now I use my phone to sneak in reading wherever I am—mealtimes, outings, even movie nights. People think I’m just checking Facebook or playing games, but I’m really just diving into another story. My husband knows, of course, when I suddenly laugh or groan at something I just read.

In my imagined B.A. meeting, I finally admit it: “Hi, I’m Julia, and I’m a bookaholic. I’ve been book-free for 20 minutes. That’s progress… right?”

The truth is, I probably do need to cut back. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll always love reading. I just want to make sure I’m present for my kids while they’re young, rather than always having my nose stuck in a book.

But hey—if you have a good book recommendation, send it my way. I’m always on the lookout!

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