I must warn you; this post is highly embarrassing. You may feel the need to look away. Please, do take care of your own mental well-being.
I am completely addicted to self-help books. And to be honest, it doesn’t really make all that much sense. I’ve always been someone who laughs at claims of miracles, the first to distrust things that feel too easy. So what on Earth keeps on possessing me into buying and reading book after book telling me that I too can unlock my hidden potential?
To be clear, I’m not really one of the people who believe in The Secret. I think everything worth achieving will by necessity take a lot of work. If it wasn’t hard to do, everyone would be doing it.
On the other hand, I’m getting up at around 05:00 on most weekdays because of Hal Elrod’s Miracle Morning. I’m writing my 750 words in morning pages every day because of Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way. During my morning pages I do my daily WOOP because of Gabrielle Oettingen’s Rethinking Positive Thinking. These are not the only self-help books I’ve read, nor are they the only practices I’ve tried. Just the ones I’ve found to work for me.
And that’s the thing, isn’t it? Finding things that work for you. Wherever they come from. And maybe that’s not so embarrassing after all.
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