Why I'm Off Self-Help Books

after a year long binge

My 2022 reading diet was composed entirely of self-help books. It's embarrassing to admit given their low-brow reputation. But these books have been life-changing!

Over the last year, I used to have weekly meltdowns because I felt inadequate as I worked on version 10 of my MBA application essays. While getting an admit has definitely improved the state of my mental health, I credit the 20 odd self-help books in my Kindle library for getting me through that really rough phase.

Self-help is an umbrella term encompassing a wide range of books from spiritual explorations like “Eastern Body Western Mind” to philosophical books like “Existential Kink” to patronizing cult-ish type books like “The Secret”. In my defense, most of the self-help I read is not the cultish kind! 

Having read so much self-help, I couldn’t stop myself from becoming a self-help evangelist! Explicit recommendations broadcasted through Twitter and implicit shilling in conversations with friends have earned me the title of ‘Self Help Book Recommending Expert’.  While I am aware that a book is not a cure all for any problem in life, I believe that the right words at the right time make all the difference. 

So why then am I off self-help books? 

Because my therapist asked me to stop. I’m only slightly joking. 

The map is not the territory

Every self-help book has a central thesis and a proposition for the reader to look at the world through that lens. It offers a proposal for a way to live that for someone like me who struggles with organized religion is easier to accept.

The problem however is that, though the thesis may be valid, the author generally comes from a very different background and perspective. And the solutions they propose might not always be applicable to me. The discernment of what to take and what to ignore is a very difficult skill to master.

After reading Existential Kink, I became convinced that we manifest our suffering because we subconsciously like it. It was an appealing idea because it gave me an illusion of control. But this illusion spurred me into inaction because I started seeing everything I do as an act of self-sabotage. My tendency to take everything to an extreme is why my therapist strongly suggested I take a break from self-help.

Guidance is cathartic. And guidance on the big questions of life like - how to live, what is worth aspiring to etc. is almost addictive. But I no longer want to outsource these big decisions because, almost always, the reality of my territory is vastly different from the maps charted out in these books. 

Self Help is hypnotizing

In Greek mythology, on Odysseus' journey back home, he encounters sirens - dangerous creatures that are part human and part bird. Their hypnotizing song lures sailors to their death. Knowing this, Odysseus asks his rowers to put wax in their ears so they can’t hear the song and he ties himself to the mast of his ship because he wants to listen to the music (why? Cause he probably had a fetish!). The strategy works and he and his shipmates make it out safely, but I have a larger point to make with this story.

Self-help books are like a siren song. Each one promises a fresh perspective, a new way of looking at life that works as an escape from the thing that’s troubling you. And you feel like you’re making advances on the problem because you’re reading a book about it! But it's much easier to keep reading rather than summoning the discipline required to implement the changes.

I’ve hit the point of diminishing returns with self-help books as a tool. I know enough theoretically about what makes me happy and why I self-sabotage. And reading another book on how to improve my life is not going to help me as much as internalizing and applying these concepts in practice.

Me getting off self-help books is kind of like putting wax in my ears so I don’t hear their siren call! I no longer want to be Odysseus, so curious about the wisdom in self-help books that I tie myself to a pole of inaction. I’d rather be the wax eared boatmen, focused on rowing without distractions.