I used to read all the time when I was a kid, it was one of my favourite hobbies. As a shy girl with a vivid imagination and a mind thirsty for knowledge, I’d take any chance I could to immerse myself in a new world or topic. You wouldn’t often find me without a book in my vicinity, and the school library was my safe space.

Then I grew up, and all of a sudden I didn’t read for fun anymore. It was weird, and I didn’t even notice it happening. My favourite genre was always young adult fiction, particularly of the fantasy and sci fi variety. Coming into my late teens and early adulthood, it was like my brain went “Well you’re too old for these now, time to grow up.”

Instead I read for university lectures and assignments. I read self help and personal development books. I read in the pursuit of betterment over enjoyment. And without realising, I cut myself off from my inner child. The carefree version of me who lives among the fairies and travels to faraway lands because it warms her soul.

Unconsciously I told her that daydreaming and creativity and escapism weren’t allowed. I told her that we’re a grown up in the real world now and we have to act like it. I told her that reading for fun was self indulgent and lazy when there were more important things to do. And by mistake I told her that what she wanted; no, what she needed didn’t matter anymore.

You know what happens when you disconnect from your inner child?

Life becomes about the rat race of it all. The hustle, the grind and the eventual burnout. The needless pursuit of things that deep down you actually don’t want or care about. And you forget what it feels to do things for the sheer and simple pleasure of them. Not to achieve something. Not to climb a ladder. Not to heal another trauma. Just to enjoy it.

When I stopped reading young adult fantasy novels, there wasn’t a single part of me that even considered there could be adult fantasy novels. In my mind, it was like once you enter the “real world”, you just have to live in it and lock the fairies, dragons, witches and elves away in your memory lest people think you’re crazy.

Which is exactly what I did for SO MANY YEARS. I would stare at the YA books on my shelf that I once loved so much with a longing to feel the way they made me feel again. But a little voice in my head would talk me out of picking them up, saying we’ve got big girl responsibilities and adult-y things to do.

So you can imagine that late last year when I made the absolute world-rocking discovery of an ENTIRE fantasy for grown-ups book universe, my life took a drastic turn. I’d been gifted permission to let the crazy out and that piece of me I’d locked away had found freedom. I began reading for fun again in January with what I feel, for me personally, was the perfect introduction to adult fantasy (aka romantasy) – Sarah J. Maas’ ‘ACOTAR’ series. And I have not. looked. back.

Rediscovering the pleasure of reading has been the most healing, joyful, exciting thing I’ve done for myself in a really long time. I’m sure my inner child is grossed out by the 18+ nature of my book taste now, but what’s important is she and I are on the same page again (literally and figuratively).

Reading fiction has re-entered my life in a period where I’ve closed a lot of doors to things that have taken up so much of my time and energy for hollow returns. And now I’m seeing the value of my time in a completely different way, and I realise that there’s an integral part of me that actually needs self indulgent lazy time to function at my best out in the real world.

I can feel her on every page reminding and reassuring me that there has to be balance, or the whole things falls apart.

(It’s me, I’m the whole thing.)

So if cuddling up on a comfy chair with a cuppa, a soft blanket and a good book is the prescription for health and happiness, the least I can do is take my medicine.