In her therapy memoir, author Baek Se-hee makes no pretense or exaggeration. She hopes to share her conversations with her therapist in a vulnerable account of what it means to know yourself better. Kritika Narula reviews the book that overcame her skepticism of therapy memoirs.
Book Review originally written for IndigoBlue Magazine, which has ceased publication.
“What’s it like being in therapy?” More often than not, when people ask this question, they are looking for a story in the answer. They are looking for a narrative. Something that makes for a good story, with a breakthrough moment that takes the limelight. In reality, however, therapeutic settings are hardly dramatic.
I have been in and out of psychotherapy for over 5 years now. And my only point of reference for what therapy was supposed to be like was a few pop culture depictions here and there. Grey’s Anatomy brought in a psychologist when the characters lived through a deadly mass shooting. There was the highly problematic Dr. Reisman in Big Little Lies. Realistic portrayals of therapy were hard to come by in mainstream pop culture until a few years ago.
So, when a therapy memoir went viral, I felt just slightly uncomfortable. Often, therapy can seem like a nebulous concept to explain. For people who have been in therapy for a while, it is hard to imagine the blank canvas they started with, now that they have verbalized so many of their previously unacknowledged emotions. For those just starting out, the blank canvas means they don’t really know what to expect from the process.
And how your healing process unfolds can look different for each person, but it is rarely a big climax or dramatic moment of change. You may have an ‘aha’ moment, but that’s just the beginning of a healing journey where you have more information about yourself. The realizations, the changes, and the epiphanies grow slowly in the space you and your therapist create. You use the therapy space as a microcosm for the world, where you practice embracing all your emotions. So, I didn’t want to read another account of the therapy experience that favored the dramatics.
The title of Baek Se-hee’s book particularly intrigued me, though. The tteokbokki reference reminded me of all the times I have wanted to give up on a goal, but still had an external point of reference that I wanted to stay for. In an email to The Sunday Times, Baek shares, “I was thinking of planning my own death, but I got hungry and ate tteokbokki. I felt guilty thinking that I could still eat tteokbokki when I wanted to die, yet it felt like such a natural thing to do.”
And this is a good glimpse into the rest of the book. To my delight, it didn’t dramatize or exaggerate. Just like the tteokbokki reference, it made me chortle at times. As someone who finds her sorrow definition-defying, it also made me feel seen and heard.
We all have emotions
Baek opens the story of her therapy experience with an earnest question, “Why are we so bad at being honest about our feelings? Is it because we’re so exhausted from living that we don’t have time to share them?” As anyone stepping into a therapist’s office will tell you, the first realization in therapy, for many people, is about the validity of our emotions.
We stop thinking of our emotions as a natural response only when they are either dismissed, invalidated, or belittled at some point in our lives. And the initial sessions often force us to unlearn this tendency. Just like Baek, we learn that all emotions carry information about us. They are opportunities to learn more about ourselves. Later in the book, Baek focuses on her self-esteem, diving deeper into what makes or breaks it. It is one of the gifts of therapy — it gives you the permission to explore what makes you who you are.
Lingering sadness
If I had to point out one reason this book merits a place in your reading list, it is because of the context. What made Baek seek therapy wasn’t a life-altering event or a sudden loss, but rather a mundane genre of sadness, something she defines as a “rotting on the inside, where the rot is this vague state of being not fine and not devastated at the same time.”
We all go in and out of funk in tandem with life’s ups and downs. But some people embrace the lows a little too closely. Her experience of lingering sadness resonates with me. She describes how she accepted that she was a little sadder than everyone else from a young age. She also shared the tense, restrictive circumstances at her home and in her family.
She remarks, “I let my world grow darker and darker,” and the honesty in this conversation shines through. Therapy spaces let you share your feelings and thoughts without sugarcoating anything. It doesn’t have to sound appetizing. It is not supposed to be edited. Once again, your sessions help you practice being authentic in the real world.
It takes a lot of courage to admit something like this: “To me, sadness is the path of least resistance, the most familiar and close-at-hand emotion I have. A habit that has encrusted itself into me everyday.” It takes far more courage to be curious about this complicated feeling.
An honest glimpse into the healing process
Baek’s account is a reminder of how imperfect the healing process can be. Previously, therapists have talked about the imperfection of the process in Maybe You Should Talk to Someone (by Lori Gottlieb) and in Why Has Nobody Told Me This Before (by Dr Julie Smith). But to hear the client’s perspective was refreshing. What people don’t often tell you about therapy is how much of the healing work takes place in the outside world. Therapy equips us with the tools needed to live authentically, and we then step out into the world with those tools to build that authentic life. Therapy is also an extremely exhausting process. As Baek shares candidly, therapy reflections bring our contrariness to the surface, “That human beings are three-dimensional is perhaps my favourite thing to say. But it is also likely the last thing I will remember in a bad moment.”
The author writes prefacing the novel, “I doubt I could ever again be as candid in a book as I was in this one.” And when you sit through this simple but meticulous account of her conversations with her therapist, you understand why.
SAMHSA’s National Helpline is a free, confidential, 24/7, 365-day-a-year treatment referral and information service (in English and Spanish) for individuals and families facing mental and/or substance use disorders. Call 1-800-662-HELP (4357).
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The Storygraph: Kritika Narula
