A Bookish Confession

I’m addicted to self-help and personal development books.

When my friends thank me for kicking ass or helping them taking on another perspective to their problem, it’s because my brain contains every approach to self-help ever written. How to survive trauma and other tough stuff. How to overcome addiction. How to boost self-esteem and stand up for yourself. How to find your passion. How to come clear about your values. How to get out of unhealthy relationships. How to find a job you love. How to find a job at all. How to make relationships work. How to raise children. How to let your children go. How to leave behind a dysfunctional childhood. How to deal with mobbing or harressment. How to prevent abuse. How to heal. How to nourish body, mind and soul. How to feel better. How to perform better. How to be yourself. How to live on a budget.

You choose the topic, I read a book on it. And if not on the specific issue, then on something related. Because that is what I’m really good at: Applying basic principles of how people and (social) systems work to other areas. People like to think that their problem, subject or issue is unique. But, let’s face it: That is really unlikely. Chances are someone else solved a similar, if not the same problem before.

But I only know that because I read such a wide variety of stuff, and it all can be broken down to maybe a handful of lessons. Unfortunately, I don’t believe that those lessons are the same for everybody. Otherwise, I would eventually write the book my friends and family constantly demand me to write.

*lame excuse*




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