Hurting and Healing Through Literature

As an avid reader since I was young, books have always been a big part of my life. Today, guest blogger Kier Rutherford explores the impact of reading on mental health through her personal story of hurt and healing through literature.

By Kier Rutherford

“Literature is the most agreeable way of ignoring life.” – Fernando Pessoa

Throughout my struggle with depression and anxiety, I’ve often turned to books for solace, guidance, and escapism. They’ve calmed my panic attacks, distracted me from negative thoughts, and helped me heal from trauma. So, when I talk about hurting and healing through literature, people often ask how my greatest source of comfort ever managed to hurt me at all.

Reading Through My Childhood Trauma 

I first used books as a way to cope with my childhood trauma. I didn’t realise it at the time, but reading was my first ever coping mechanism.

I was a day-dreamy, dissociative little girl. From a very young age I sought to escape not only my body but my troubled environment, dimly aware that this was necessary for my survival. My bleak trauma was stifled by the colourful lure of distant, imaginary lands, worlds adhering to rules so much simpler than mine. I grew obsessed with Disney storybooks and fell in love with Roald Dahl, comforted by the concepts of magic, justice and happy ever afters.

The escapist capacities of literature make reading a highly effective coping mechanism for trauma. Bibliotherapy often focuses on reading and mental health from an escapist perspective, with children’s literature being highly regarded in some studies for its ability to ‘distract’ people from their mental health symptoms and traumatic experiences. 

For me, reading was a beautiful, pure way to escape my troubled childhood – but it also had its dangers.

My Early Teenage Years

At first, reading remained a positive coping mechanism.

As I crept towards my teenage years, my taste in books naturally began to change. I no longer reached immediately for fantasies, instead devouring pre-teen contemporary novels by the likes of Jacqueline Wilson and Sara Manning. I especially loved first-person narratives because they allowed me to dive unrestrictedly into someone else’s mind.

As a depressed, lonely teenager I found solace in living vicariously through my favourite protagonists and they quickly became my best friends. I experienced parties, boys and best-friendships in the only way I could. My desire for escapism was different now – it wasn’t that I wanted to escape the world, I just wanted to escape myself.

Reading and Mental Health – The Dark Days 

My relationship with books began to take a dark turn once I hit my mid-teens. As I sank into depression, I became obsessed with abuse memoirs, true-crime and hard-hitting emotional thrillers. Rather than helping me to escape, these books only pulled me deeper into severe depression, fuelling and perpetuating my negative thoughts. 

Happy, light-hearted books irritated me with their rose-tinted perspective of life. I wanted to read about hurt and suffering because I wanted to relate to something. I understood pain a lot more than I understood happiness. 

Eventually, it got to the point where my lifelong comfort was no match for my depression. The negative voices in my head were so loud that I couldn’t concentrate for even a few minutes. I’d struggle to get through a chapter or would put a book down and not pick it back up for months. The characters weren’t real enough. The plots weren’t engaging enough. At my lowest points, the depression convinced me that the novels I held most dear to my heart were nothing but mere words on a page.

I sought escapism in other ways, ways that have a habit of dulling your passions. After a couple of years, I ended up doing an English degree. 

Rather than reignite my love for reading, the degree pretty much curb-stomped it for the next three years. I hated being forced to read the works of writers I didn’t care for (sorry Shakespeare) and analyse books that still made no sense to me after weeks of over-analysing (Ulysses I’m talking to you!) In fact, by the end of my degree I didn’t think that I would ever be able to read another book again. 

A Happy Ending

So there I was, resigned to the loss of my childhood passion, only for my brother to buy me the Harry Patter box set for my birthday.

The crave for nostalgia got the better of me and after a few weeks I gave it a go, fully expecting to put The Philosopher’s Stone down before the first chapter ended. Somehow, I managed to read the whole thing in a day and dived immediately for the next one! 

Rediscovering my love for reading was truly magical. It reignited my passion for life and taught me a lot about my emotional limits, healing the bitterness and anger that I’d been harbouring for years and replacing it with awe and inner peace. My reading and mental health journey has been pretty turbulent – but ultimately, it’s been one of the most inspiring and enlightening experiences of my life.

A Couple Of Things To Take Away

Reading is a beautiful way to escape your troubles but avoiding your problems altogether isn’t so good! I’ve found that using other positive coping mechanisms alongside reading like journaling, mindfulness and exercise, are great ways to balance escapism with self-awareness.

Also, if your depression is sucking the joy out of reading, audiobooks are a brilliant alternative. I find listening to books incredibly calming for my anxiety, and they make doing household chores a lot less tedious too.

Happy reading!