Pulled by Pages, Trapped by Fear

Mood : 6/10

I’ve always loved reading. The act of picking up a book, opening the first page, and diving into a world of words—that’s something I’ve always cherished. It’s not just the stories themselves that entice me, but the experience of reading. Something about it is so satisfying, like when you’re holding a hot cup of tea, wrapped in a blanket, and the world around you fades away. Books offer that sense of escape, and I crave it deeply. But here’s the thing: every time I sit down to read, I feel a rush of fear. Not the kind of fear you get from a scary novel, but the kind that comes with a sudden realization that this is going to pull me into another dimension. A dimension where I lose touch with reality. And I don’t know if I’m ready for that.

This feeling is hard to explain. It’s not something I’ve always felt. It started somewhere along the way, like a slow shift in my relationship with books, but I can’t pinpoint when it began. All I know is that now, every time I reach for a book, it’s like I’m reaching for something that could completely take me out of myself. That’s terrifying. It’s almost as if the book will grab my hand and force me to sit in an unknown space, away from everything I know.

It’s not like I don’t want to read. I crave it. But the second I think about opening a book, my mind starts throwing out distractions. “Oh, I should Google something,” “I should check my emails,” “I should clean the house.” It’s like my brain is desperate to avoid reading, even though I know deep down that it’s something I love and want. The urge to read is strong, but so is the resistance. And that’s when the confusion sets in. Why is it like this? Why is there a constant push and pull?

I’ve tried to understand what’s going on inside my mind, but it’s not easy. I’ve realized that this feeling isn’t just about reading; it’s about something deeper. There’s this sense of disconnection when I read. It’s like when I open a book, I risk losing myself in it, and I’m afraid of what might happen if I let myself go completely. Maybe it’s the feeling of losing control, or maybe it’s the fear of detaching from reality in a way I can’t control. Whatever it is, it feels like stepping into a world where I don’t exist as I am now, and that scares me.

At the same time, when I’m not reading, I feel this constant itch to do so. It’s like an unfulfilled desire that hangs over me. I want to read, but the thought of reading brings up that fear of losing touch with the real world, of getting lost in something I might not be ready for. It’s this constant loop of wanting and avoiding, and it’s exhausting. The deeper I think about it, the more I realize that this isn’t just about books. It’s about how my mind has learned to navigate my own emotions. There’s a sense of anxiety around reading, and maybe it’s tied to other parts of my life. Maybe it’s the pressure to keep up, or the fear of not being “productive” enough. Maybe it’s the feeling of being overwhelmed by the sheer amount of books I want to read but haven’t gotten to yet.

This tug-of-war between wanting to read and feeling scared of it is confusing, to say the least. And I can’t help but wonder: is this just a side effect of my anxiety? Or is it linked to something else, something deeper in me? Maybe it’s depression that plays a part. The weight of everything in my life feels like it presses down on me at times, and the thought of opening a book and losing myself in it brings up a sense of guilt. Like I should be doing something else. Something more productive. But then again, reading feels like it’s meant to be a release, a way to step away from all the stress and just be in the moment. So why does it cause this fear?

After thinking about it for a while, I’ve realized that this is more common than I thought. It’s not just me. There’s a term for it—avoidance behavior—and it’s something we all experience in different ways. I’ve avoided things before, like stressful tasks or tough conversations, but I never realized that avoidance could happen with something as simple as reading. Avoidance happens when we encounter something that feels emotionally difficult, and we try to steer clear of it. In my case, reading, which I love, has become something my mind sees as an emotional trigger. It’s a place where I know I’ll get lost, and in some ways, I’m afraid of that. My mind distracts me with every excuse in the book because it’s trying to protect me from feeling overwhelmed.

But why do I still have the urge to read? If I’m avoiding it, why do I crave it so much? That’s the paradox. The urge to read is real—it’s a deep longing. But the fear is real too, and it’s hard to separate them. There’s something about reading that calls to me, even when I try to push it away. It’s like a part of me knows I’m missing something, and that something is found in the pages of a book. But that doesn’t make the fear go away.

I’ve been wondering if I can just force myself to read, sit with it, and push through the anxiety. But I’m realizing now that forcing myself to do something that triggers fear isn’t the answer. What I need to do is approach reading differently, with more understanding and compassion for myself. I need to give myself permission to read in small, manageable chunks—just 10 or 15 minutes at a time, and see how it feels. I can allow myself to ease into it instead of jumping straight in with the pressure of needing to read for hours.

I also think I need to find ways to make reading feel less threatening. It’s about creating a space for it that feels comfortable. Maybe lighting a candle, getting cozy in a specific chair, or setting a calming atmosphere will make it easier to dive in. The distractions will always be there, but acknowledging them without judgment might help me stay focused. After all, I’m not in a race to read as much as possible. I can read for the pleasure of it, not out of obligation.

The truth is, there’s nothing wrong with me for feeling this way. My mind is just reacting to the experience of reading in a way that I haven’t fully understood until now. But I’m beginning to see that it’s okay to feel both the desire and the fear. I can hold space for both at the same time. I don’t have to force myself into something I’m not ready for. I can take it slow, be kind to myself, and find my way back to the joy of reading.

In the end, reading is still something I love. I just need to figure out how to make it work for me, without the fear and resistance. And maybe, just maybe, by being kind to myself in the process, I’ll finally be able to embrace it fully again.