Alexandra: That was when reading romance changed from being something I love to a refuge

By Alexandra, Romance Reader

I distinctly remember when PBS first aired Andrew Davies’ iconic “Pride and Prejudice” TV series. I was too young to understand the social customs of the regency period, and too young to understand why it was such a terrible thing that Lydia had run away to get married, but I can still feel the excitement of squishing onto the couch with my sisters to watch each episode. I remember it because that was when I first fell in love. Shockingly I did not fall in love with Colin Firth or Jennifer Ehle. Sure, like everyone else I had a crush—but that was when I fell in love with romance.

I always enjoyed reading, particularly any book with a quick-witted, outspoken heroine, and by the time I was in grade 6 I had devoured all of Jane Austen’s works—some of them multiple times. I have continued to reread her novels (along with biographies of incredible contemporary and historical women, and a splash of books from other genres) and I have all but drowned myself in romance novels. They can be contemporary,  historical, surrounded by dragons or witches, filled with billionaires or small-town contractors (pun intended). I have always been happy to read any trope under the sun, as long as I could count on the HEA.

Fast forward to my mid-twenties, I chose to stay at home with my children instead of putting them in daycare, before any of my friends had even started thinking about having babies. It was the right thing for our family and I love my time with my children (all three of whom are named after Austen characters of course)! My husband continues to be my best friend and I’ve found being a stay-at-home mom very fulfilling, but we live in a neighbourhood where most mothers are at least 10 years older than me.

Most of the women here have financially lucrative careers and could not understand why I would want to stay home. The family and friends I grew up with live about an hour away from us, so even grabbing a coffee with a friend wasn’t a possibility for me. When I’d take my daughters for a walk I would often be mistaken for a nanny and despite trying to form connections with other mothers at “mommy groups”, I was clearly the odd one out and felt excluded from conversation beyond the basic pleasantries. While the nannies were always kind, they also kept their distance to a certain degree. I don’t feel as judged anymore (or perhaps I just don’t care as much as I used to), but aside from discussing children with other moms, I found it difficult to make any connections, let alone make friends. 

That was when reading romance changed from being something I love, to also being my refuge. I found friendship with the BFFs heroines had (or made) in a novel. I had weekly margaritas with those girls and I shared laughs with them at the edge of a regency ball, while breastfeeding my baby in the middle of the night. I re-lived my late twenties as the chic career-driven girl and then I relished in the quiet of the rugged Scottish Highlands along with an independent spinster, while my toddler napped. On long drives to my mom’s house I’d pass by Guelph while listening to Helena Hunting’s Pucked, and I swear I could point out which house Alex Waters’ parents lived in. I cried happy tears with the heroines when they realized that their British best friend was also their soulmate—because me too!

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For ten minutes, or sometimes for a few hours, I could take a breather from caring for my babies and relate to someone else’s experiences. Afterwards I could return to my family refreshed, excited for the next chapter—whether that was the next chapter of our day, or the next chapter of our lives when we hit a special milestone. Sometimes I would return to my family simply excited to read the next chapter of my novel later, after my children fell asleep on the roughest of days. Whether it was through night terrors, teething, hyperemesis gravidarum, or my own grief over losing a parent, romance novels were there for me. Through difficult times, as well as the good ones, I felt less alone when the protagonists were working through their struggles, and as I continued I found solace and joy in their happily ever afters. 

Nine years after having my first child, I’ve been lucky enough to make some amazing friends through our school community, and I have managed to stay close to my sisters and friends despite physical distance. But thanks to romance novels, I also have my online “book buddy” friends, as well as communities on reader fan groups on like Helena Hunting’s Beaver Den, and Northern Heat hosted by Jackie Lau, Farrah Heron and Jenny Holiday on Facebook. Thanks to romance, I’ve made incredible memories like attending the Ignited by Books event and The Queen’s Ball Bridgerton Experience. Now I have a great conversation starter (that has nothing to do with children). It doesn’t matter whether the person reads romance novels or they are too afraid to try them—I’ve never met a person who didn’t have an opinion to share about them, and sometimes I’ve been surprised by a great recommendation from someone I did not expect.

So thank you to everyone out there who reads romance as ferociously as I do, and is brave enough to share their reading experiences through book clubs, online or at exciting events (thank you for making them easy to find HEA Canada )! You’re not just a reader, or just an author, you’re part of a community that connects and supports many people, albeit sometimes silently. After all, to quote Catherine, “To read romance is a pleasure, but NOT a guilty one.”