Books Are More Than Just Stories– They’re Lifelines

I remember my mother taking me to our public library and sifting through shelves to accumulate stacks of books larger than my small arms could carry. It’s important to mention that my mother is not (and never has been) a reader. But reading was a hobby she always longed for, so she worked to instill it in me– and luckily, it worked. 

Late at night, I remember turning on my bedside lamp decorated with flowers and reading The Boxcar Children by Gertrude Chandler Warner until I was sure I was walking alongside them; living in old train cars and traveling beside shallow streams. As an only child, reading let me enter a new world full of friends, adventures, and destinations by merely turning page after page. I tore through any “Magic Treehouse” book and classics gifted by my grandparents like Little House on the Prairie, eager to uncover what was possible in this world and stretch my imagination beyond my bedroom. 

Reading also led me to uncover what I now feel is my life’s purpose– writing.

Building the bookshelf in my room with wildly creative works like The Tale of Desperaux, Goosebumps, and so many more, made me eager to add my own books alongside them. My mom still has a copy of the short book I wrote and illustrated about a dog when I was about eight or so alongside many poems, essays, and short stories I poured my heart and soul into. This fervor for storytelling only persisted as I got older, evolving time and time again throughout the years.

Throughout my teens, I read countless YA romance novels and apocalypse stories. Sarah Dessen was my favorite writer, hands down, and I still read her books to this day because they unlock a profound sense of nostalgia for a younger me. The thirteen-year-old Katee, who was grappling with growing up; learning to love her reflection despite the acne and braces; wanting to kiss a boy so she could feel wanted and alive; pulling her shirts up a bit above the waistline of her jeans to show a little skin and testing eyeliner looked on her lids to feel bolder, sexier, and older somehow. 

Dessen’s books also conveyed an important lesson that I always loved and admired: things don’t always work out. Her stories usually captured a troubled teen of some sort and depicted a young love that didn’t pan out because life got in the way. Even as a child, I shared strong friendships with the adults in my life and grew up quicker than most. I knew about any turbulence in my family or most tragedies in the world around me from a very young age. Seeing what I knew as reality reflected in Dessen’s writing made me feel a part of something much larger; it made me feel understood.

This sense of understanding between my world and the worlds portrayed in the stories I read is what encouraged me to become a writer myself– yearning for new ways to make others feel seen, heard, understood. So, when I went to college, I decided to study English and Spanish to pursue language as a career path.

It was in college that I really began to push the bounds of my reading and writing. During those four years, books became teachers and I claimed poetry as my preferred writing genre. 

To me, poetry has always felt so fluid, vulnerable, and raw– evoking truths about our world and own existence that are conveyed in such concise, visceral ways. I was captivated by it and motivated to write it successfully, so I dove into learning its varied art form. I tore through new books– poetry collections by Ocean Vuong, Nicole Sealey, and Eduardo Corral. Not to mention, memoirs by Kiese Laymon and Jesmyn Ward that wrote the stories of their life so purely and honestly that I was moved to tears. Even remembering their books now, I feel my breath catch in my lungs– captivated by their power and integrity. I wanted to write poems and stories the way these authors did. I wanted people to read my words and feel their world stop for a moment because I dared to share it all with them. 

When I pushed myself to write honestly and vulnerably, fully leaving my life on the page, my mind was unlocked to just how intimate storytelling is. You are sharing a chunk of your life, thoughts, imagination, with an audience who has every right to judge it how they please– that’s not an easy thing to accept. But it’s a fear I was determined to overcome because the beauty of sharing stories and connecting with people far and wide is far greater than any fear.

Leaving college, reading and writing became a sort of lifeline for me. Living at home with my mom during a global pandemic gave me many days to sit, think, read, and write. I wrote about the world around me: my past, my friends, my family, my feelings. I broke up with my boyfriend of three years, terminating a relationship riddled with toxicity and heartbreak and drama, making my world incredibly quiet. Every night, I read a chapter of Mari Andrew’s My Inner Sky to keep myself from texting him and remind myself that there is still so much left in the world to explore.  During my early twenties, reading and writing cured my restlessness and taught me healing. 

I read The Body Keeps the Score and went to therapy and learned to tackle trauma I never realized I was holding onto. The years that followed ebbed and flowed between easy and hard; stable and unnervingly chaotic. But throughout it all, reading and writing became a means of survival for me; a place where my thoughts could flow freely and I could process everything with writers near and far. 

My story with reading is long and winding. Books have been one of my greatest confidants– teaching me ways to pursue my passion, set my imagination free, heal my mind and body, and love the world around me no matter how tumultuous. Books are honest in a way no person can be. They have unlocked truths for me that have hit my heart harder than any advice loved ones have lent. 

I have over 470 notes on my phone dating back to 2015 when I was 16 years old. A decade of grocery lists, quotes that resonated, books to read, lines I wrote, lyrics stuck in my head, packing notes, and so much more. Here is a short list of some book quotes that have shaped me and continue to inspire me today:

• “…life was always arriving. There was always another gate to pass through.” –Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow by Gabrielle Zevin, page 228
• “I am the hurting kind. I keep searching for proof.” –The Hurting Kind by Ada Limón, page 83
• “My remembering begins late in the afternoon and lasts late into the night.” Bliss Montage by Ling Ma, page 7

• “How funny that I called it love and the whole time it was pain.” –The Hurting Kind by Ada Limón
• “It’s like hating your home.. least of all your body” –The Body Keeps the Score by Bessel van der Kolk, Chapter 8 
• “It is much easier to seem silly and light than to be the sum of your experiences.” –Happy Hour by Marlowe Granados, page 116
• “There is no way to peace; peace is the way.” –Emily Green Balch

I know the list of passages and books that have shaped me throughout my life is much, much longer than this list encapsulates because reading, for me, has been a 26-year love story that only continues to lengthen. Fueling my life with so much knowledge, reflection, and joy, it’s a pastime I’m so grateful for every day. 

Thank you, mom, for showing me the way toward what I now recognize as a lifeline, a teacher, and a lifelong friend.