Hi everyone,

I need to tell you something I’m not proud of.

When life gets too painful, I disappear into books.

Not in the “oh, I love reading” way that sounds charming at dinner parties. In the way where I’m using stories to numb myself. To not feel what I’m feeling. To escape the unbearable weight of my own life.

I shared this at our year-end reflection session last week, and saying it out loud—admitting it to other people—made it real in a way it hadn’t been before. Even though I’ve known it for a while. Even though I’ve been doing it for years.

But What’s Yours?

Before I go further, I want to ask you something: What’s your escape mechanism?

Because here’s the thing—we all have one. Or several.

Maybe yours is shopping. Those late-night Amazon sessions where you wake up to confirmation emails for things you don’t remember ordering and definitely don’t need.

Maybe it’s Instagram. Scrolling and scrolling and scrolling until you’ve lost two hours and have no idea what you even looked at.

Maybe it’s overworking. Staying late at the office not because the work needs to get done, but because going home means facing the silence. The emptiness. The thoughts you’ve been outrunning all day.

Maybe it’s binge eating. Not because you’re hungry, but because the act of eating—of tasting, chewing, swallowing—gives you something to focus on that isn’t the thing you’re actually feeling.

Maybe it’s trying to fix someone else. Your partner, your kids, your colleagues. Because if you can solve their problems, you don’t have to look at your own.

Maybe it’s gambling. Or drinking. Or obsessively checking the news. Or rearranging your entire house at 2 AM. Or planning trips you’ll never take. Or starting new projects you’ll never finish.

What’s the thing you reach for when life gets too painful to sit with?

I’m asking because I want you to know: I see you. Whatever your version of this is, I understand it. And you’re not alone.

The Comfort of Other People’s Lives

There’s a quote from Amy Plum that gutted me when I read it: “I spent the rest of the day in someone else’s story. The rare moments that I put the book down, my own pain returned in burning stabs.”

That’s exactly what I do. I live in someone else’s story because my own feels too much to bear.

Paranormal romance novels, mostly. Mafia romance. UFO stories. Stories where everything works out. Where the broken characters get their happy endings. Where love conquers all and the bad guys get what’s coming to them and justice prevails and nobody has to sit with the soul-crushing reality that sometimes life just… hurts.

And there’s nothing wrong with loving books. Nothing wrong with finding joy in stories. But I’m not reading for joy anymore. I’m reading to disappear.

Victoria Schwab said it perfectly: “Most people want to escape. Get out of their heads. Out of their lives. Stories are the easiest way to do that.”

The easiest way. Not the healthiest way. Not the way that actually solves anything.

What We’re All Really Avoiding

Here’s what I realized during our reflection exercise: when I escape into books, I’m not just avoiding specific painful things. I’m avoiding feeling altogether.

Because if I stop reading, if I put the book down, if I sit in silence for even five minutes—the feelings come flooding back.

The anxiety. The disappointment. The grief over things that didn’t work out. The shame about where I am versus where I thought I’d be. The exhaustion of constantly performing competence when inside I feel like I’m barely holding it together.

And I’m willing to bet that if you stop scrolling, stop shopping, stop working, stop eating, stop fixing—your version of these feelings comes flooding back too.

“Emotional pain cannot kill you, but running from it can.” — Vironika Tugaleva

She’s right. The running is what’s killing me.

The Prison We’ve Built

Virginia Woolf said: “You cannot find peace by avoiding life.”

Peace isn’t on the other side of the escape. Peace is in the life we’re avoiding.

And that’s terrifying.

The Cost of Avoidance

Here’s what nobody tells you about escapism: it works. That’s the problem.

But the pain we create by avoiding pain is avoidable.

My long-term consequences are exhaustion, lack of motivation, and the feeling that I’m watching my own life happen from a distance.

What Happens When We Feel

I stayed. I felt it. And I didn’t die.

The feeling rose, crested, and passed—like a wave.

The Long Way Home

“Think you’re escaping and run into yourself. Longest way round is the shortest way home.” — James Joyce

The shortest way home is through.

An Invitation

If you’re reading this and recognizing yourself—I see you.

The peace we’re looking for is on the other side of feeling.

Will you join me?

As We Close This Chapter

“Create a life you don’t need to escape from.”

Here’s to 2026. Here’s to staying. Here’s to coming home to ourselves.

With love, hope, and presence,
Laura

P.S. If this resonated with you, please don’t feel like you need to fix it alone.

P.P.S. I’m still going to read romance novels. But maybe I’ll also start living a life that feels worth staying present for.