Last year, I started 2025 with a reading streak.
This year, I started 2026 without opening a book—and somehow, with everything.
The irony isn’t lost on me.
At the beginning of last year, reading felt like a return. A grounding ritual. A reminder of who I was before life got loud. This year, though, everything feels louder. I lost my job. I started a new one. My husband and I launched an LLC. I’m rebuilding my Shopify from scratch. I’m learning Twitch. I’m trying to market bookmarks without burning myself out. I’m organizing my entire life in Notion because my brain simply refuses to hold all of this at once.
And somehow, in the middle of all that, reading—something I love deeply—started to feel like another obligation.
So I stopped.
Not because I don’t love books. Not because I don’t want to read. I do want to read. Trust me, I really do. But I told myself that if I want to create bookmarks, content, and all the things I’m building based on the books I’m reading right now, I can’t do that while juggling five books at once, half-finished and half-forgotten. I can’t create meaning from chaos.
I stopped because I refuse to turn the thing that brings me comfort into another checkbox on a to-do list.
I’m currently halfway through A Court of Silver Flames. It’s been a tough read, if I’m being honest. I have Crescent City waiting for me. I have physical books stacked like promises. I have a Kindle I won’t leave the house with yet because I don’t have a case and my brain says, not like that. None of this is logical. All of it is real.
The truth is, I don’t lack motivation.
I lack space.
I’m the kind of person who, when inspired, wants to do everything at once—post all the bookmarks, launch all the ideas, fix everything in a day. ADHD makes momentum feel like a sprint. A marketing specialist would probably have a very unfun time with me. So instead of letting myself spiral, I’m learning to pace. To space things out. To plan releases instead of dumping everything at once. To use Notion not as control, but as compassion.
I’m organizing because everything feels overwhelming—not because I’m trying to be perfect.
I’m paying for Shopify now, and I’ll be paying more in February, with zero sales so far. It’s terrifying. It’s also kind of funny in a laugh so you don’t cry way. I’m building in public. I’m learning as I go. I’m doing the best I can with what I have, where I am.
And in the middle of all this rebuilding, I created something softer.
The Common Room.
A place for cozy games (and chaos—trust me), quiet streams, reading when it feels good, and existing without optimizing every second of my life. It’s not another thing I need to succeed at. It’s a space I’m allowed to rest in.
So if you’re starting this year slower than you planned—welcome.
If you’re organizing your life because everything feels too loud—same.
If you’re protecting the things you love from becoming work—I see you.
There’s no guidebook for doing all of this “right.”
There’s just showing up, one imperfect step at a time.
The Common Room is open.
Pull up a chair.