There was a time in my life that reading books felt as enjoyable and obvious as coffee in the morning. I lugged bags full of books across continents, read on friends’ couches, in bed, at cafes, in parks and on every sort of transport you could think of.

Then came children, social media, the smartphone and – the final death blow to my once robust bibliophilia – the pandemic. I hardly noticed it happening in real time but, before I knew it, my fractured attention had been spread so thin it simply couldn’t bear the weight of even the easiest of reads in print.

This bothered me, a lot. I asked Dr Susan McLaine, creative director of Bibliotherapy Australia, how to revive my love of reading.

McLaine says that if we find we’re not reading as much as we’d like to be, our first step should be to absolve ourselves of guilt and approach reading as we might our health. The best results will come by focusing on the benefits rather than the effort. McLaine says we musn’t regard reading as a chore but “as nourishment for the mind and spirit”.

“Don’t judge your reading habits. Take the time to reflect on what it was that reading gave you, and consider time spent reading as a gift to yourself.”

Week one

I greet the first week of my challenge with the naive enthusiasm of a former high school footy star about to pull a hamstring playing kick to kick at a kids’ party. This is going to be a cake-walk! A triumphant return to form! Full of delusional optimism I draw a tome from my bookshelf and tuck myself into bed early. Ten pages in and my brain is twitching with fatigue, distraction and a looming sense that years of doom-scrolling and mindless streaming have done some form of irreparable damage.

I continue this futile charade for the duration of the week before conceding that I’m going to have to train to get back in shape.

Week two

What beats the prattle of a podcast to drown out one’s pesky internal monologue while providing the illusion of thoughtful engagement? Audiobooks, maybe. I decide to switch out the nonfiction nerd fests of my podcasts for an author-narrated version of a much talked about new release. I’m hooked and consume it in measured doses over the course of a week. I have followed a long-form fictional narrative from beginning to end. I’ll call that a win.

Week three

I stick to what’s working. McLaine assures me audiobooks count as reading so I pick a fresh title along the same vein. My appetite and patience for following a story over multiple days is increasing. I listen compulsively everywhere I walk, on trams, while shopping and before bed. It’s refreshing to be transported elsewhere without the sickly aftertaste of too much screentime and I find it oddly comforting to be read to like a child.

Week four

Four years ago my neighbour loaned me a trilogy of books (I should really return them) and this week I figure that if I get into the first one, I will have a ready-made path forward with the following two. They’re light, both figuratively and literally. I tuck the first in the series into my handbag and make a point of pulling it, rather than my phone, out during any idle moments. I’m still not able to read before bed but I find myself putting off chores and deadlines to read, invoking the rationale that in doing so I’m kind of working.

I’m reading more but I’m conscious this sleight of mind is at odds with the entire point of the exercise: it’s supposed to be about pleasure not productivity or procrastination.

Week five

I begin to notice my mind craving the serenity of the printed word.

I can read for far longer without feeling the pull of my phone and my ability to fully invest in the story is increasing. But there remains a lingering sense of achievement with every passing chapter – this doesn’t sit well with me. One doesn’t congratulate oneself for enjoying a good meal or night on the dancefloor – it just feels good. I vaguely recall, from my well-spent youth, that a sweet spot between abject brain rot and toxic productivity does actually exist. I’m determined to return to this state of being; where healthy pastimes (such as reading a book) can be enjoyed for the simple pleasure they bring.

Week six

This week my beloved grandfather shuffles off this mortal coil. It’s not a surprise but comes with all the expected emotions and distractions. With a frayed mind and interstate funerals to attend I continue carting my book around with me. I will neither enjoy nor achieve much this week. Though I am surprised to catch myself stealing a page here or there; compared to the mayhem my phone has to offer, the stillness and silence of the page is a balm.

Week seven

I’m still a bit scattered and have lots of work to catch up on. Reading or not reading both make me feel guilty – this is an absurd conundrum. McLaine emphasises the importance of reading to your mood and energy levels. I resolve to abandon my productivity mindset in earnest and mentally reframe the time spent reading as a form of benign hedonism. I pull a handful of random books from my shelf and stack them at the front door. “Any reading is good reading,” McLaine says. I spend the week bouncing between titles according to my mood. I have no idea how much I read this week, but I’ve picked up a book every day and my screen time is down.

Week eight

After a week of no-presh dabbling I’ve become invested in one particular title. I make a point of carrying it everywhere and make it through a handful of pages whenever I’m waiting or commuting. Pinballing between the endless distractions and obligations my phone has to offer feels more tedious and unsatisfying than usual. I find myself in constant search of an opportunity to indulge in this long dormant antidote to their insidiousness. Every page feels like a cheeky reward, for what I’m not sure.

Week nine

Having eased my way into a collection of titles, deciding which book to pop in my bag each day has become like picking an outfit – a balance between mood and motivation. Like choosing the right fit, the right book improves the whole day.

The end

Nearly 10 weeks later I can hardly claim to be a born-again bookworm, but I have finished several titles and there’s no denying my relationship with the printed page has become less fraught. I’m back to a place where reading isn’t considered something I should be doing, but rather something I just want to do.

Ten out of 10, would recommend.