The Quiet Struggle of Reading

For many people, reading has always been an activity of joy and pursuing a hobby – entertaining oneself – devouring books of one author after another. An intellectually stimulating activity that is often inspiring and relaxing has quickly become a difficult task.

Stories, ideas and knowledge of all sorts interest me, but reading itself is often difficult for me. Words flow very easily in my mind and on paper, but when it comes back to reading what I wrote, it feels heavy. 

Sentences that once seemed effortless suddenly appear dense and exhausting. Paragraphs blur together. My mind wanders somewhere else long before my eyes reach the end of the page.

Sometimes the experience of just reading can be overwhelming and frustrating. 

Recently, I bought two books – Happiness by Danielle Steel and A Quiver Full of Arrows by Jeffrey Archer. I began reading both these books, knowing how restless my mind was; how easily it would slip away. As I finished one short story in A Quiver Full of Arrows, I quickly slipped into the pages of the next book – Happiness.

Ideally, this is not how you read a book, but I knew I needed to give my mind a break. Switching between books felt like taking small breaths between long stretches of effort. It allowed me to continue reading without feeling trapped inside one narrative for too long.

Being a writer, it is quite ironic that reading is difficult for me. One would expect the opposite—that a writer would naturally immerse themselves in books for hours. Yet my relationship with reading is complicated. Writing feels natural, almost instinctive, while reading often demands persistence.

Still, I remain fascinated by the craft of writing itself. I pay attention to how authors construct their sentences, build tension, and reveal characters slowly through dialogue and action. 

Even when reading feels difficult, observing these techniques excites me. Each author has a rhythm, a style, a voice that is uniquely theirs, and discovering those subtle differences keeps me turning the pages.

Each page requires patience and grit—grit to keep reading. Sometimes it means slowing down, reading a paragraph twice, or pausing to let my mind settle before continuing. It is not the effortless reading experience many describe, but it is still meaningful in its own way.

Perhaps reading, for me, is not about speed or volume. It is about persistence. It is about staying with the page even when my mind resists. And in those small moments when a sentence resonates, or a story unfolds beautifully, the struggle feels worthwhile.

Because, despite the difficulty, the love for stories never disappears. It’s just asking for a different kind of patience.