Soothing your soul

Most of us, without being told, would recognize that reading is good, as in:  good for you.  There are benefits from reading. We just kind of accept that this is true. 

A small amount of research on my part (ok, I googled it) backs this statement up with a list of actual health benefits of reading. 

- Reading reduces stress. 

- Reading helps you sleep better. 

- Reading keeps your mind sharp.

- Reading can improve your relationships. (Not sure I buy this one although I can see how it may help develop empathy for others) Some would argue that me having my nose stuck in a book did not enhance the relationship. 

**https://www.piedmont.org/living-real-change/health-benefits-of-reading

These are just a few kind of obvious and easy to find benefits of picking up a book you enjoy and spending time with it. 

I have always been a reader.

 It was my  life line when I was a kid in a dysfunctional family, it was my escape during the parts of my life that were tedious or difficult. It added to the joy during the joyful times, creating another layer to celebrate. Getting lost in a book was the best thing I could always do for myself. I could depend on it in a way that I couldnt depend on much else. I pretty much always had a book with me, always had one going and a couple ready to go. I loved to talk about books and find new authors that spoke to me. 

So many hours curled up reading! There was nothing like a lazy summer morning on the front porch swing reading, or hiding somewhere that I could read in peace, because reading in my family was not valued. I read on the family Sunday "drives" and got big grief for it.  We were a family of farmers and I was constantly chided for "wasting time" reading. 

But I still did. I had to. 

I spent time soaking up the fuel to go forward as if it was an investment, because it was.  Reading gives you a way to learn about things that you never even could have imagined, things like other people's feelings and inner lives. Reading took me places that I would never get to see in my actual life. It helped me understand so much of the world that was otherwise so hard to comprehend. Reading made me a liberal surrounded by conservatives (as if I didnt already stand out!). 

I didn't go to college until I was in my 30's. I was a single mom of 2 young kids and it's safe to safe that I was living a pretty narrow existence. I had grown up in a very conservative and intolerant part of the country. The writers, and thinking, that I was introduced to in college changed my life. People like Barbara Ehrenreich, Robert Putnam, Maya Angelou, Ruth Harriet Jacobs, Langston Hughes for pete's sake!! And so many more! I had never been exposed to these new ideas and I soaked it up. Gratefully. 

The friends I made from reading! Trixie Beldan and her gang, solving mysteries and exploring young love, Anne of Green gables with her sassiness and naiveté at the same time, the absolute satisfying fantasy of The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe. I could go on and on. I loved the classics as much as the trashy novels ( I had quite the Danielle Steele era)  Everyone should have these experiences, or something similar to have stored away in their subconscious selves. It helps us in ways that aren't recognized in an academic article necessarily. 

But for a couple of years recently, when I was going through some "stuff", (covid, a family member dying of cancer, kid in trouble) I couldn't read. 

I just couldn't.

 I couldn't find the reserves I needed to focus on the page in front of me. My usual tools had left me. My anxiety was twanging at high velocity for weeks and weeks. I had too many raw edges exposed and was just not able to engage. I know now that I was in a sort of survival mode and reading was not on Maslow's hierarch of needs.   It both baffled and frustrated me because I needed it. I needed my reading. I needed to escape and sooth myself in a way that I had never needed so deeply. 

Not being able to read left me floundering. I tried to watched tv, which is an escape but not what I needed. I was too dysregulated to find something to focus on. Meanwhile, life was happening. I needed to function. I needed to be out in the world somewhat but honestly Covid could not have happened at a better time for me. I had an excuse to be home, where I felt the most safe. 

But I needed to read. 

So I kept trying. 

I tried old favorites and some of them worked briefly but not enough to do the job. People suggested books, but I quickly realized anything with "suspense" or "thriller" in the description was not good. It triggered a physical reaction, same with anything  too emotional or ...fraught. 

I would spiral and not be able to recoup for days.

Crying became very very tedious.  

 So no. 

I was craving the solace found in losing yourself in a place you've never been with people you would never meet but might like to.  

I kept trying. 

Finally, FINALLY, when life started to smooth just a tiny bit, I tried an author  who simply wrote good stories. They were set in the English countryside for the most part, there were families that had just a little bit of struggle but not enough to leave me anxious. They were intelligent enough to challenge me. My friend Amy calls these books "light but not stupid". 

I got every one of her books that I could find and read them. Then I found some others from a light hearted Scottish author, same MO, just good stories. I started to feel I was less anxious, less "wound", able to sooth myself. 

I also realized that binging old tv shows helped on a similar level. Anything that I didnt have to pay too close attention to. Having Mary Tyler Moore on while I cooked or puttered was good. It was the same with Sex and the City ( dont disparage that show if you're tempted! Im convinced there is an episode for every life event!) I binged all of Cheers and Frasier, Gilmore Girls, and Modern Family. I felt sad when I reached the end of a series but there's always another. I finally got around to watching Big Bang Theory! I tried, and failed, with a few. West Wing was an unmitigated disaster. 

The shows let me get stuff done without thinking too much. But the reading was the gift. The gift of lying on the couch and actually relaxing, shutting down my mind and body. Being able to read again gave me back the inner resources to function. 

I again was so grateful. 

And now I work in a library! You can find me on Saturdays at the circulation desk in our small town library. Talk about a gift! For this introvert it is the perfect amount of social contact. I feel connected to the town and can talk about books all day. I go home completely drained but it's a joy. And because of it, I've found other authors that I can lose myself with. 

I may always deal with a bit of anxiety ( see my earlier post on PTSD), but knowing how to sooth myself is a tool that I will also always have. And there's a heck of a lot of books out there. 

S'all good

SG