You Don't Have to Earn Your Reading Time

I have a terrible habit.

I'll think: "I'd really like to sit down and read for a bit."

Then immediately: "I'll just do a few things first."

Dangerous words.

I'll put the washing on. Then I'll notice something needs cleaning. While I'm doing that, I'll remember something I need to do for the business. Then there's dinner. Toddler stuff. Work stuff. Life stuff.

And suddenly the little bit of time I could have spent reading has disappeared.

Again.

Because apparently, somewhere along the way, I decided I have to earn the right to sit down.

There's always something else you could be doing

This is the problem with being an adult. The list doesn't end. Ever.

You can finish the washing. There will be more washing. Clean the kitchen. Someone will use the kitchen. Empty the dishwasher. Congratulations. It will return. Answer the emails. More emails will arrive. Clean the house. If you have a toddler, enjoy those seventeen beautiful seconds. There's always another job. Another thing that would be useful. Another thing you could get done.

So if the rule is: "I'll read when everything is finished."

Well... Good luck with that. I'll see you in approximately 2047.

I think I'm still learning this

I'm a mum. A wife. A receptionist. A small business owner. Cleaner. Chef. Taxi. And probably several other roles I've forgotten because I'm too tired.

A lot of my day is spent doing things because somebody needs them done. And I'm happy to do a lot of those things. That's my life.

But it makes it surprisingly easy to feel guilty when I do something that serves absolutely no practical purpose other than: I enjoy it.

Reading doesn't clean anything. It doesn't answer an email. It doesn't cook dinner. It doesn't tick something useful off the list.

I sit there. Doing nothing. Reading about people who don't exist. Sometimes those people have swords. It's wonderful.

"I should be doing something"

This thought can absolutely ruin a good chapter.

You've finally sat down. Book open. Coffee or tea nearby. Nobody needs anything. Then your brain starts.

"You should probably put that washing away."

No. We're reading.

"You haven't cleaned the bathroom."

The bathroom will survive.

"You could get ahead on—"

STOP.

Why are we like this? Nobody looks at 30 minutes of scrolling and thinks: "I really need to justify this leisure activity." Half the time we don't even realise we've done it. But deliberately sitting down with a book? Suddenly we need written permission from management.

So here it is

In case you need someone else to say it: You're allowed to read before everything is done.

There. Permission granted.

The washing can wait 30 minutes.

The dishes aren't going anywhere.

You don't have to achieve something first. You don't need to smash through your to-do list. You don't need to have been particularly productive today. You don't need to deserve it.

You can just... read.

Reading isn't a reward for being productive

I think this is the bit I want to change in my own head.

Because if reading only happens once I've been a sufficiently productive human being, I've accidentally turned something I love into a reward system. Finish your chores. Get your work done. Look after everyone. Be useful. Then you may have your book.

No. I don't want that.

Reading is part of my life. Not the prize I get once I've successfully completed it.

And sometimes those 30 minutes tucked into bed with a fantasy or sci-fi book are exactly what I need after spending an entire day doing things for everybody else. I get to disappear. Someone else's kingdom can have the problems for a while. Mine will still be here when I get back.

It doesn't have to be hours

This is important too. Because sometimes when we imagine "making time for reading," we picture this perfect afternoon. Quiet house. Comfy chair. Hot drink. Three uninterrupted hours. Possibly rain against the window because apparently we're living inside Pinterest now.

Lovely. Also not happening very often in my house.

Most of my reading happens in bed. About 30 minutes before sleep. Sometimes less. And that's okay.

Ten minutes counts. One chapter counts. Five pages counts. Reading doesn't become more legitimate because you did it for two hours.

If you've got a tiny pocket of time and you want to spend it inside a book... use it.

And some days there genuinely isn't time

I work close shifts. Some nights I don't get my reading time. That's different.

I'm not interested in pretending we can all magically create spare hours if we're disciplined enough. Sometimes life wins. You're busy. You're exhausted. Someone needs you. Go to bed. Your book will wait.

But there's a difference between:

"I genuinely don't have time tonight." and: "I have 30 minutes, but I feel guilty using them on myself."

I'm trying to get better at recognising the second one.

Maybe reading is doing something

Actually, I'm going to take back something I said earlier. Reading isn't doing nothing.

For me, it's an escape. It's one of the few times my brain stops running through everything happening in real life and goes somewhere completely different. I get excited. Curious. Annoyed. Suspicious. Emotionally attached to fictional people who consistently make terrible decisions.

I get that feeling of needing to know what's waiting in the next chapter. And when I've been too busy to read for a while? I miss it. I really miss it.

So maybe those 30 minutes aren't wasted time at all.

Maybe they're just time spent on something I love.

And honestly...

that should be reason enough.

So I'm giving you another challenge

Not a reading challenge. A leave-something-unfinished challenge.

At some point this week, when you have a little pocket of time... leave something. Leave the washing unfolded. Leave the kitchen until later. Leave one completely non-urgent job sitting on the list.

Make yourself a drink. Grab your book. Sit down. Read. Even if it's only for ten minutes.

Not because you've earned it. Not because you've finished everything. Just because you bloody want to.

Then tell me: What's the thing you always feel like you have to finish before you'll let yourself sit down and read?

I have a feeling I'm not the only one fighting with the washing.