“I disappeared into books when I was very young, disappeared into them like someone running into the woods.” — Rebecca Solnit

Raise your hand, if you were a book nerd when you were younger, reading for fun as often as possible. And raise your other hand if you were shy, or introverted, or gloriously imaginative and nerdy, with unusual bookish interests and intellectual passions … even though all anyone else could see was a giant stack of books.

I’ve got both of my hands raised, by the way. I was the kid who spent more time with her own thoughts and imagination than with real-life friends; who loved windy, blustery weather; who believed (unironically, unquestioningly, unapologetically) in the existence of gnomes and fairies and magic; and who leapt into fun books to discover and revisit, over and over, the enchanted forest of my imagination, filled with adventure, travel, and new characters.

Eventually, though, as all of us who are bookish introverts seem to do, I started feeling the weight of others’ expectations. I’m sure you, too, have heard or felt all of these admonishments at one time or another, whether they were said outright or merely implied.

“Why are you reading that? You should read this instead! Why do you read so many books anyway? Why are you so quiet? Don’t be so weird. You need to read faster. You should really be taking notes as you read, and analyzing the structure of the book. (You’re only interested in beautiful words and images? Pfffft.) You should DO something instead of just reading books all the time.”

We can hear these questions for only so long before we internalize them, give in to other people’s expectations, and find ourselves reluctantly wandering out of our imaginary enchanted forest. And when reading becomes more chore than pleasure, we may even end up falling completely out of the habit of reading for fun.

But don’t despair. Once a book nerd, always a book nerd. Being a former (or occasional) reader does not mean you’re a non-reader; there’s always a way back into the enchanted forest.

At its core, reading is a uniquely private and individual pursuit. But we’ve all been so conditioned to put everyone else before ourselves that we often feel guilty — or fear that we’ll be labeled selfish — when we do something that is so obviously, indulgently for us alone.

You know what, though? For nerdy introverts like you and me, these things that you do by yourself, for yourself — whether it’s reading, or baking, or gardening, or spending an entire Saturday lounging in your PJs and daydreaming, or going for long solitary walks in nature — are the very things that will fill you with joy, contentment, and peace; that will keep you plugged in to your imagination and to the magic you remember from your bookish childhood — the magic that surrounds you in the real world — and that, in the end, will make you feel the most alive.

These activities are the opposite of “doing nothing.” (But if you were truly doing nothing? That’s perfectly okay, too! You don’t need anyone’s permission to rest.)

And they’re not selfish at all. They’re vital.

Your private, quiet me-time — whether it’s just 5 minutes each day, or an entire afternoon — is, depending on your cliche of choice, how you fill your own cup. How you put your own oxygen mask on first. How you take care of yourself. And none of these activities deserve to be relegated to a few spare, leftover bits of your day, either. Your own well-being should never be an afterthought. Taking care of yourself is the first, most important, step in being able to effectively take care of others, or fight injustices, or volunteer for causes you believe in, or simply live your life.

If reading for pleasure was your favorite way to relax and refuel but you gave it up along the way, and if, quite frankly, you still feel a little lost without it, now’s the time to embrace your inner book nerd, stride confidently back into the enchanted forest of your imagination, and read books and stories you love. Read purely for the joy of savoring the words and the images they conjure.

And when anyone else (or your own brain) tells you that you shouldn’t read imaginative fiction or “kid lit,” or that you shouldn’t bother reading at all, or that you’re “not doing anything” when you read, don’t listen.