My Childhood as “The Little Reader”
At school, my literature teacher fondly called me “my little reader.”
And it was true — I adored books. I would wake up early to sneak in a few pages before school and fall asleep late, flashlight in hand, reading under the covers.
When Reading Became a Burden
But as I grew older, something changed. Reading stopped being a joy.
Why? Because it became a duty. My parents started telling me what I should be reading. There was a clear line between “proper” literature and everything else.
Anyone who grew up in a post-Soviet home knows those typical home libraries — rows of thick, serious books, heavy with importance, and often out of touch with what truly sparked joy.
Reading turned into another task on the to-do list. And with that, I slowly stopped wanting to read at all.
The Unexpected Return
Years later, I was at our family dacha with Valera. It was a hot summer afternoon. I was quietly knitting, and he sat next to me, picked up a book, and started reading aloud.
It was Harry Potter.
I listened. His voice was soft, the story began to pull me in…
And just when I was completely hooked, he said:
“I’m tired. You’ll have to finish it yourself.”
Of course, I did.
And to my own surprise — I loved it.
Yes, I read Harry Potter for the first time as an adult. And it reminded me just how magical stories can be.
Love Is the Best Recommendation
After that day, Valera kept gently offering me new books — ones he sensed I might enjoy. Not classics. Not obligations. Just stories. Beautiful, moving, curious stories.
(Spoiler: he does the same now with our son. Gently, with love, never with pressure.)
And what I’ve learned is this: books are like relationships.
You can’t force someone to love a story. You can’t convince them a book is good “because it should be.”
You have to let them find what speaks to them — even if it’s not what you would choose.
Letting Go and Returning Again
If a book doesn’t grab you — let it go.
Don’t force it.
Because forcing yourself can lead to never wanting to pick up a book again.
But also, just like in love — give books a second chance.
Because when we stop reading altogether, something inside us begins to fade. We lose that inner world, the spark, the inspiration.
Books nourish us. They remind us who we are.
And sometimes… they help us become who we’re meant to be.
Final Thought
Read what makes your heart beat faster.
Read what comforts you.
Read what feels like a long-lost friend or a thrilling new discovery.
Books aren’t about how many you finish.
They’re about how deeply you feel them.
And maybe, like me, you’ll find your way back to reading — not through obligation, but through love.
