"I swear, I'm not into toxic positivity"

Trying to look inconspicuous in the self-help aisle

Photo by Noémi Macavei-Katócz on Unsplash

On particularly bad mental health days I will sometimes take myself to the book store. And more often than I’d like to admit, I beeline for the self-help section, hoping against hope that somewhere on those shelves I will find an answer to the crushing feeling of impending doom that I live with as a near-constant companion.

However, I feel exposed standing in that particular section of the bookstore, trying to surreptitiously check out titles like Reasons to Stay Alive by Matt Haig without having a stranger think that I might need a wellness check. I love Haig’s writing and avidly followed him on Instagram when he was still active on that platform, but reading a book with a title like that (or, say, How Not to Kill Yourself by Clancy Martin) in public or in front of my family would inevitably lead to a general feeling of discomfort for everyone involved. So when I finally read both of those very worthy titles it will be in absolute privacy, thankyouverymuch.

When I think about self-help, it reminds me of a conversation my gender studies class had way back when I was a depressed undergraduate. I remember that class through my memory fog specifically because it was an amazing group of people and I was in love with a woman named Mahria who would make heart symbols with her hands when she loved something you said. One of the people in my class told us that she worked at a bookstore and she would keep bookmarks and leaflets up at the cash register with information on community resources like getting help for domestic violence. When someone would come up to the register with a book on a related topic she would slip information into it for future use. It was a small glimpse into the way people looked out for each other in the world, and I loved that class despite being a nineteen year-old who knew absolutely nothing.

These days, it is me standing awkwardly in the self-help section, praying that a staff member doesn’t ask me if I need help finding a book because I would either self-ignite in embarrassment or, more likely, tell them the truth because I am a terrible liar. “Why yes, I do need help. Can you suggest a book to help me make it through one more crushing day of existence in this flaming dumpster fire rocketing through space?”

And let me just say that I am fully aware the that world is full of toxic positivity and bullshit self-help books. In fact, I recently had to get an Audible refund because I bought an audiobook that was so toxic in the first chapter that I almost gagged on the sanctimonious attitude of the self-made millionaire author who wrote it. I mean, good for you #GirlBoss but I actually can’t positive mindset my way out of this brain disease.

It’s like being asked, “Have you tried meditation?” This is a question a man once actually asked me to which I imprudently and immediately deadpanned, “You sound like someone who has never tried to kill themself.” Dale Carnegie would have had a field day with that one.

Also, I know academically that I can’t fix all my problems with a book or any other commodity available under a capitalist system, but it does offer a feeling of minor relief when I find something that might be helpful. On my last visit to a bookstore I ended up buying a book called Feral Self Care by Mandi Em because how could I not? I am a sucker for a good title. And I am going to actively practice as many of the suggestions that resonate with me, because I am a big believer in the idea of taking only what works for you and leaving the rest.

I haven’t read too many self-help books by men (except Atomic Habits by James Clear, because everyone and their grandmother has read that book), because the formula of the storytelling/advice of a lot of male-written self-help more often than not follows the same kind of pattern:

Step one: Realize that you have a problem (I’m still on board at this point).

Step two: Fall into a well of self-pity over how you didn’t live up to expectations (again, relatable).

Step three: MAN UP, YOU BABY. YANK YOURSELF UP BY YOUR BOOTSTRAPS SO HARD THAT YOU CATAPULT YOURSELF INTO A BETTER LIFE. NO MERCY. WAKE UP AT 5 AM! EAT PROTEIN IMMEDIATELY UPON WAKING UP, NO EXCUSES! WORK OUT UNTIL YOU ARE CONVENTIONALLY ATTRACTIVE AND YOU WILL BE GUARANTEED TO GET ALL THE BABES. DISCIPLINE! IF YOU CAN’T DO THIS YOU’RE THE LOSER YOU BELIEVE YOURSELF TO BE! Also, buy my course on how to CRUSH YOUR GOALS for $5,000.

If the tough love/toxic masculinity approach works for you, great I guess????? But I need an author to be more like, “Society is a dumpster fire and we’re all doing the best we can. Here are some small, actionable steps you can take to feel less like trash today.” Because I know I’m never going to be a millionaire, have six pack abs or be famous. I just want to live a content life, and that is what I am seeking in the self-help aisle.

I’m also very careful not to talk about self-help with people who aren’t receptive to the idea. I was at my favourite independent bookstore a couple of months ago and I felt like treating myself to a book to compensate myself for sitting through yet another psych appointment. But I wasn’t seeing anything that immediately grabbed me, so I asked the two staff behind the counter what they might recommend. When they asked me what I was looking for I said, “Well, I want something to give me a little bit of hope in the trash fire that we’re currently living through. So maybe you could suggest a self-help book you really like, or a happy novel?” One of the staff said, “Well I don’t read self-help,” and although I’m sure she wasn’t saying it to be judgmental, I did almost launch into an overexplanation of how I, too, understand how toxic this genre can be and that I was indeed a discerning consumer. Thankfully, her coworker jumped in and took me on a tour of the shelves. We looked at a romance novel that I politely declined, and then we eventually settled on The School of Life’s Small Pleasures. It has fifty-two short entries on a variety of small joys in life, and I pick it up when I need to remind myself that this existence can also be beautiful.

Ultimately, it may be foolish to rely on this coping mechanism, but if it takes the edge off my depression I will keep doing it. If you too are a closeted self-help reader and want to check out something new, the following is a list of memoirs, self-help, etc. that has helped me over the years:

• Hello I Want to Die Please Fix Me by Anna Mehler Paperny - no notes on the title, I immediately had to buy this memoir because it spoke to me and it did not disappoint.

• Every single thing Samantha Irby has ever written, but especially her essay “A Total Attack of the Heart” from We Are Never Meeting in Real Life, which is the most accurate description of a panic attack I have ever read.

• Debt-Free Forever by Gail Vaz-Oxlade - this helped me get out of debt back in the day, because apparently I respond well to a lady with a nice accent gently chiding me into saving money.

• The Afrominimalist’s Guide to Living with Less by Christine Platt - the most non-preachy book about minimalism you will find.

• How to be Sad by Helen Russell - it has some interesting research on how to be happier by allowing ourselves to feel the sad.

• Burnout by Emily Nagoski and Amelia Nagoski - a great book that I read in grad school when I was so burnt out I could barely function.

• Maybe you Should Talk to Someone by Lori Gottlieb - written by a therapist, it also has some interesting research.

• Radically Content by Jamie Varon - making a case for contentment instead of happiness.

• The Collected Schizophrenias by Esmé Weijun Wang - this book of essays was powerful and the essay on Francesca Woodman especially stayed with me long after I put this book down.

• Block, Delete, Move On by LalalaLetMeExplain - one of the only dating books I will ever read.

• Big Magic by Elizabeth Gilbert - gives good advice on living as a creative.

• The Year of Less by Cait Flanders - another minimalism book by someone who did a no-buy year.

• Yoke by Jessamyn Stanley - Jessamyn is truly a delight, read this immediately.

• This One Wild and Precious Life by Sarah Wilson - a book about “a radically hopeful path forward,”¹ and a Mary Oliver quote as the title? Yes, please.

• The Way Through the Woods: On Mushrooms and Mourning by Litt Woon Long - you thought I would get through this list without mentioning mushrooms? You were wrong. This is about a woman who processes her grief through foraging and it is a beautiful memoir.

• I’m Mostly Here to Enjoy Myself: One Woman’s Pursuit of Pleasure in Paris - a single, childless woman in her mid-forties escapes sixteen months of Covid isolation to take a month-long sublet in Paris. I would like this to be my future.

• How to Change Your Mind by Michael Pollan - the token man on this list, I love Pollan’s work and his willingness to describe his drug adventures is the openness I think we need more of in this world.

• How to Keep House While Drowning by KC Davis - a helpful guide for the overwhelmed and neurodivergent.

1. From Audible’s Title Details section for this book