How I Quit My Self-Help Book Addiction

Admitting it is the first step to recovery

We all come with baggage. Like many of you, I have a range of issues including a crappy childhood, a bad marriage, depression, generalized anxiety disorder, eating disorders, low self-esteem, and impostor syndrome. I’ve discovered I also have an addiction. I’m addicted to self-help books.

It all starts innocently enough. You feel empowered by acknowledging the problem and you’re ready to tackle it. Sure, therapy is an option, but that’s expensive and you’re limited to their hours. Why settle for one counselor when you can have dozens of therapists providing advice at all hours?

So one self-help book becomes two, which then becomes dozens of books stacked on the nightstand or displaying brightly in a Kindle library. The bookcase is a shrine to authors with doctorate degrees in A-Topic-That-Solves-Your-Problem.

Sound familiar? You, my friend, are addicted as well.

It’s all very enticing, like any addiction. You begin reading a few here or there when your schedule permits. Sometimes you put one down and start another. Each one has some nugget of truth that provides clarity into your life. Like a bump of cocaine, it’s never quite enough to resolve your issues.

Amazon reviews feed the addiction with promises of “this book was a game-changer!” or “this book spoke directly to my soul!”. If it helped them then it can help you too, right?

I’ve been reading self-help books for twenty years. Twenty. Years. Opening each one felt like I was on a golden path to recovery and gave me hope against my problems. After a while, I realized that each book was about five pages of recovery advice spread out over 300 pages so the author could meet their publisher’s quota and claim expertise in that field.

Still, I kept buying. I kept reading. I borrowed digital books from the library and purchased more with Amazon Free Shipping Credits. Online reviews gave tips on other books that I then latched on to. Through all that, I never quite felt their solutions resonated with me.

It took reading a self-help book to help me off my self-help book addiction.

My latest book was the New York Times Bestseller “Girl, Wash Your Face” by Rachel Hollis. I know. I know. If you’re a self-help book expert then you roll your eyes at gimmicky titles written by authors who are trendy for their website or TV show. I felt compelled to give it a shot when I learned she experienced severe childhood trauma (her brother committed suicide) and managed to climb on top despite of it.

Was it her sage advice that made me realize I don’t need self-improvement books anymore? Was it her anecdotes on life that shook me to my core and made me accept my imperfections? Or was it her words of encouragement that I, too, could put in the hard work and reach my goals?

It was none of that.

Rachel Hollis’ book made me realize that I was wasting precious time on trying to solve my life than using that time to live life.

Here was a wildly successful woman who built an empire after experiencing a profound loss and growing a family (including foster children). Chapter after chapter, she explains how she achieved her goals or worked through some crisis while building her company. Rachel Hollis interjects with blurbs about how she was writing this chapter while getting her hair colored or that chapter while on an airport floor.

What she wrote about became irrelevant to me. It’s that she used her time to write it in the first place. Rachel Hollis isn’t spending 20 years of her life reading about how to fix her damaged soul. She’s moving forward with her life despite the damage to her soul.

What she wrote about became irrelevant to me. It’s that she used her time to write it in the first place.

I don’t mean to single her out in particular. My point is that it hit me: here I was at 2 am trying to find more ways to fix myself when she most certainly was not doing the same with her life at 2 am. I was using self-help books as a way to dwell and feed on my problems which allowed me to stay in one mental spot and not progress forward. Nothing was going to give me day-by-day instructions on how to live my life with whatever issue ailed me most at that moment. While I’ve been able to get some clarity on why I am the way I am, I never quite grasped how to live my life as a result.

Like any other addiction, you eventually realize your dealer isn’t using the drug they’re peddling you. While these authors are all experts in their fields, none of them are experts on you. None of them can pinpoint specifically the steps you must take to resolve your life’s hurdles and inner demons.

I discovered that by reading less about any of my many problems, I wasn’t ruminating on them and repeating the same toxic thoughts in my mind. My brain can focus on the present and plans for the future. Even if those plans for the future meant making a sandwich instead of curling up in a ball crying for an hour.

Whenever my thoughts begin to go down a dark path, I’m able to think “squirrel!” and redirect my thoughts to anything that brings me back to the present. These often include writing shopping lists, doing laundry, reading a magazine, and inviting my kids to play. Anything big or small can take you back to the present and away from focusing on the past, even if it’s for a few minutes. It becomes a habit.

I will forever be a work in progress. I still have my dark moments of depressive thoughts. But now at least I’m actually in progress instead of will-be-in-progress-once-I-read-this-book. By not reading every self-help book, I stopped the cycle of crying, dwelling, and replaying destructive thoughts.

My body feels like I lifted 20 years of heavy self-improvement books off my shoulders.