Most of the self-help out there is crap. I know because I write some of it.
Motivational posts, writings on wellbeing, bringing “balance” to your life (I just had to spell check “balance”, that shows much of it I don’t have).
I suppose it must work for some, or maybe not at all since it’s a huge industry and people keep consuming more of it looking for answers.
Every day it’s a struggle for me. There are only so many hours in the day, so it’s not about balance, my day is about priorities. And never mind about support. My husband will do something if I chase him down about it, but that’s more in the nagging genre.
I have been self-helping for 20 years, and it hasn’t changed me much. My fault, you say. Maybe. But I am who I am.
However, I may have found an ally. Have you heard of Gary John Bishop? I bought one of his audiobooks, mostly because I liked the cover – I’m a sucker for tattoos. One morning commute I found myself laughing as he was yelling in his thick Scottish accent “You’re going to die! Everyone dies! That’s it!”
This is someone I could get behind.
I don’t want to analyze my relationship with food, or someone to tell me to explore my childhood, or to meditate. I need an ass kick and someone to tell me to knock it off.
I don’t need therapy. I need a drill sergeant.