Storytime for Grown-Ups: Why I’m Always Reaching for a Book

Somewhere between childhood and adulthood, we’re told to put away childish things. Stories become “escapism.” Reading for pleasure gets relegated to guilty pleasures and beach vacations. But what if the very thing we’re dismissing is exactly what we need to navigate this complicated, often overwhelming adult world?

I’ll never forget the evening I came home from a particularly brutal workday, the kind where everything felt heavy and purposeless. Instead of scrolling through my phone or turning on the television, I found myself drawn to my bookshelf. I pulled down a worn copy of a favorite novel and curled up in my reading chair. Three hours later, I emerged feeling lighter, more myself, more capable of facing tomorrow. That’s when I realized: I hadn’t outgrown my need for stories. I’d simply forgotten how essential they are.

In this post, I’m inviting you to reclaim storytime. Not as a luxury or an indulgence, but as a vital practice for living a richer, more intentional life. Whether you’re rediscovering the joy of reading or looking to deepen your relationship with books, you’ll find permission here to make stories a non-negotiable part of your grown-up life. Because the truth is, we need stories now more than ever.

Why Reading Fiction Matters More Than Ever in Adulthood

We live in an age of information overload. Every day, we’re bombarded with news alerts, emails, social media updates, and an endless stream of content designed to fragment our attention. In the midst of all this noise, sitting down with a book feels almost radical. It’s a deliberate choice to slow down, to focus on one narrative thread, to let a story unfold at its own pace rather than at the speed of a newsfeed.

But fiction offers us something even more precious than a break from the digital chaos. It gives us practice in empathy. When we step into a character’s shoes, we experience their joys, sorrows, fears, and triumphs. We see the world through different eyes. We begin to understand perspectives vastly different from our own. This isn’t just pleasant entertainment; it’s essential emotional exercise. In a world that often feels increasingly divided, the ability to understand and feel for others becomes an act of resistance.

There’s also something profound about the way fiction helps us process our own lives. Sometimes we need distance to see our situations clearly. A novel set in Victorian England or a fantasy realm can illuminate truths about our modern struggles in ways that direct advice never could. The metaphors and symbols in stories work on us in subtle, powerful ways, helping us make sense of experiences we don’t yet have words for. Reading fiction isn’t escaping reality. It’s engaging with reality at a deeper level.

Books as Medicine for the Weary Soul

I keep a rotating stack of books on my nightstand, and I think of them as a kind of apothecary. Some are for when I need comfort, others for when I need courage. Some help me process grief, while others remind me how to laugh. Over the years, I’ve learned to prescribe myself the right story for the moment, the way you might reach for chamomile tea before bed or ginger when your stomach’s unsettled.

There’s real science behind this intuition. Bibliotherapy, the practice of using books for healing, has been recognized for decades. Reading lowers stress levels, reduces symptoms of depression, and can even help us sleep better. When we’re absorbed in a good story, our heart rate slows, our muscles relax, and our minds stop their anxious circling. The effect can last long after we’ve closed the book, carrying us through difficult days with renewed resilience.

Beyond the measurable health benefits, there’s something sacred about the ritual of reading. Lighting a candle, brewing a cup of tea, settling into a favorite chair with a book creates a boundary around our time and attention. In these moments, we’re saying: this matters. I matter. My inner life deserves this space and care. In a culture that constantly demands productivity, choosing to sit quietly with a story becomes an act of self-preservation and self-respect.

Creating Your Own Literary Haven at Home

One of the greatest joys of adult life is curating your own reading space. Unlike childhood, when we read wherever we could find a quiet corner, we now have the power to design an environment that truly nurtures our reading life. This doesn’t require a massive budget or a dedicated library room. It simply requires intention.

Start with light. Natural light is ideal for daytime reading, but soft, warm lamplight creates the perfect ambiance for evening storytime. I’m partial to amber-bulbed lamps that cast a golden glow, making everything feel a bit more magical. Add comfortable seating that supports your back for long reading sessions. My reading chair has become so associated with stories and relaxation that simply sitting in it begins to shift my mood, even before I’ve opened a book.

Then there are the small touches that transform a reading spot into a sanctuary. A soft throw blanket for chilly evenings. A small table within arm’s reach for your tea or coffee. Perhaps a candle with a scent that signals to your brain: it’s time to step into another world. I keep my current reads visible rather than tucked away on shelves because seeing them serves as both an invitation and reminder. These books are here, waiting. There’s always another story ready to welcome me home.

The ritual of maintaining this space matters almost as much as the reading itself. Dusting the shelves, rearranging books by mood or season, refreshing the flowers in the nearby vase are all ways of honoring this practice. When we care for our reading spaces, we’re caring for a part of ourselves that needs beauty, stillness, and story.

Building a Reading Life That Actually Fits Your Schedule

The most common objection I hear about reading is time. Who has hours to spend with a book when there are emails to answer, meals to prepare, homes to maintain, and relationships to nurture? But here’s what I’ve learned: we don’t need hours. We need consistency and intention.

Twenty minutes before bed. Fifteen minutes during lunch. Ten minutes while your morning coffee brews. These small pockets of time add up more quickly than you’d imagine. A page here, a chapter there, and suddenly you’ve finished a book in a week or two. The key is releasing the fantasy that reading only “counts” if you can lose yourself for hours at a time. That’s a wonderful luxury when it happens, but it can’t be the standard or we’ll never read at all.

I’ve also found that treating reading like any other important appointment helps. I actually block out “reading time” on my calendar some evenings. This might sound absurdly formal, but it works. When reading has a designated time, it stops being something that only happens if everything else gets done first. It becomes non-negotiable, as essential as any other form of self-care.

There’s also permission to be found in embracing different kinds of reading for different seasons of life. Sometimes you’re in a place for literary fiction that demands your full attention and emotional investment. Other times, you need something lighter, easier, more purely entertaining. Both are valid. Both are valuable. The goal isn’t to perform a certain kind of reading for an imaginary audience. The goal is to maintain your relationship with stories in whatever form sustains you right now.

The Books That Become Part of Your Story

Certain books mark us. They become part of who we are, shaping how we see ourselves and the world. I can trace my own timeline through the books that found me at exactly the right moment. The novel that helped me understand heartbreak. The memoir that gave me courage to make a difficult change. The fantasy series that reminded me how to hope during a dark season.

These books aren’t just stories we’ve read. They’re companions who’ve walked with us through our own narratives. I keep my most beloved, most formative books in a special section of my shelves. Some are battered and worn, pages dog-eared and spines cracked from repeated readings. Others are pristine because I’m afraid to damage them, treating them like the treasures they are. Each one represents a different chapter of my life, a different version of myself.

There’s something powerful about rereading these books years later. You’re never the same person twice. The story might be identical, but you bring new experiences, new understanding, new questions to each encounter. A book that once comforted you might now challenge you. A character you once admired might now frustrate you. These shifts reveal how we’ve grown, what we’ve learned, who we’re becoming.

I encourage you to pay attention to the books that resonate deeply. Mark passages that speak to you. Write in the margins if that’s your style, or keep a reading journal if you prefer pristine pages. Document your reactions, your questions, your connections. Years from now, you’ll have not just a record of books read but a map of your own inner journey. That’s the gift of a reading life: it creates a parallel narrative alongside your daily existence, one that’s richer, deeper, and full of meaning.

Coming Home to Yourself Between the Pages

At the end of the day, this is what reading gives us: a way home. Home to ourselves, to what matters, to the truth that we’re part of something larger than our individual struggles and triumphs. In stories, we find echoed our own experiences and we discover experiences we’ll never live firsthand but can still understand. We find language for feelings we couldn’t articulate. We find company in our loneliness and validation for our most secret selves.

This is why I’m always reaching for a book. Not because I’m trying to escape my life, but because I’m trying to live it more fully. Stories don’t pull us away from reality; they teach us how to engage with it more deeply, more compassionately, more courageously. They remind us that we’re not alone in our questions and confusions. They show us that transformation is possible, that meaning can be found, that even the darkest nights eventually give way to dawn.

So yes, I make time for stories. I prioritize them. I defend them against the countless demands on my attention. Because in a world that too often reduces us to our productivity, our usefulness, our marketable skills, stories remind us of our humanity. They insist that our inner lives matter, that beauty and meaning and connection are worth pursuing, that there’s always another chapter waiting to be discovered.

Thank you for joining me for this conversation about the magic of storytime for grown-ups. I’d love to hear about the books that have shaped your journey. Browse through more posts here on Nevermore Lane where we explore all the ways to craft a more intentional, beautiful, cozy life. And please, grab your favorite mug and join me for coffee anytime. After all, the best conversations happen when we gather together with warm drinks and stories to share.

 Like what you read? Drop me a line – let’s chat over virtual coffee. 

~ Chrystal