I never believed in self-help. Never read one. I promise. Okay, let’s make a demon’s deal — I did, I did, I did, I read them, devoured them, stuffed them into my raw and gaping soul, tried to sculpt myself into a better thing, a useful thing. I clawed at a few when I was puberty-ing my self-drudgery, drowning in my own bile. Susan Powter’s Stop the Insanity! (1993) lodged itself in my skull, her voice a jagged sermon — every book, every video, every tape, a loop of salvation and static. Thought I was enlightened, thought I was self-helped, but it was illusion, a spasm, a trick of the mind.

It was horrifically long ago. And then. My hands, my wretched, trembling hands, caught hold of Self-Help: With Illustrations of Character and Conduct by Samuel Smiles — this one I found amusing, its bones still rattling in my present, a carcass worth gnawing. But even this, even this, nearly killed the genre for me. Almost. But some relic of desire still writhed in my marrow, and so I stepped further, deeper — past the point of return.

After that, as far as I remember, I stumbled upon the most famous self-help book ever written — How to Win Friends and Influence people — it was from my dad’s library. I read it and realized it is hard even to make friends. Influence is even out of the shore of my solidarity. And long after that, my eyeballs infuriated seeing The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuk.* Honestly, just fuk* was the reason I bought that book, but it worked for the writer, not for me. I almost badly hurt my soul reading such lame suggestions. And after three types of self-help gurus, I abandoned reading self-help entirely.

It’s enough of my story — be practical.

You wake up. You meditate. You pee while thinking of changing yourself, and you journal. You drink overpriced mushroom coffee because a podcast said it would optimize your mind. You start recommending turmeric tea to your friends. You listen to some ex-tech-bro-turned-guru tell you to “crush it.” You repeat affirmations: I am enough. I am limitless. I am not slowly losing my grip on reality.

By noon, you’re drowning in productivity hacks. You look more tired than a thousand-year-old skeleton and rub your temple a bit, saying, “What am I doing wrong?” By evening, you feel exhausted but unfulfilled. You fall asleep scrolling through Instagram, where a 22-year-old life coach promises you can manifest your dreams if you just believe harder. After that, you don’t even remember falling asleep, having millions of flaps in your own bed with spasmodic efforts.

The Religion of the 21st Century

Self-help is no longer just a genre; it’s a belief system. Traditional religion promised salvation in the afterlife. Self-help promises it right now — if you follow the right rituals:

Prayer = Positive Affirmations

Sin = Limiting Beliefs

Heaven = Financial Freedom, Six-Pack Abs, and Mindfulness

Hell = Being ‘Mediocre’

Messiahs = Productivity Gurus and Mindset Coaches

Like all religions, self-help sells certainty in an uncertain world. But unlike traditional faith, it doesn’t even offer salvation — just a never-ending treadmill of one more course, one more book, one more mindset shift.

The Capitalist Scam: Sell a Disease, Then Sell the Cure

The self-help industry thrives on one simple trick: first, convince you that you’re broken. Then, sell you the solution.

First, they tell you that waking up at 8 AM is a failure. Then, they sell you a $1,500 “morning routine masterclass.”

They tell you that ‘normal’ success is meaningless. Then, they sell you a blueprint to become a billionaire (taught by someone who made their fortune selling blueprints).

They convince you that you lack discipline. Then, they sell you a “dopamine detox” course to fix your brain.

Like a scammy priest selling indulgences, self-help influencers profit from making you feel like a sinner.

The Dark Side of Constant Self-Optimization

The pursuit of “the best version of yourself” sounds noble — until you realize it’s a psychological trap.

1. You Become a Productivity Machine, Not a Person

Every moment must be optimized: Reading? Speed-read. Eating? Intermittent fast. Resting? No, active recovery!

You stop experiencing life; you start hacking it.

2. The Goalpost Always Moves

First, you want to be rich. Then, you need to be financially free. Then, you need to become a thought leader.

You’re never “done” improving — because that would kill the industry.

3. It’s a Spiritual Bypass

The ancient Greeks had Sophrosyne — self-awareness and moderation. Hinduism teaches Swadharma — finding one’s natural way. Buddhism promotes acceptance.

Self-help replaces all this with “grind harder,” skipping real self-awareness for dopamine-fuelled delusion.

How to Escape the Trap

Realize You’re Not Broken — You don’t need to be fixed. You’re not a software update away from being a complete human being.

Embrace ‘Mediocrity’ — Not everyone needs to be a CEO or a monk. Being enough is rebellion.

Stop Consuming, Start Living — Read less self-help, do more life.

Seek Philosophy, Not Hacks — Read Nietzsche, the Upanishads, or Camus. Unlike self-help, they don’t have an agenda to sell.

Final Thought: You Are Not a Project

At the end of your life, you won’t care about your morning routine or your optimized mindset. You’ll care about being human — which means embracing imperfection, contradiction, and joy without a checklist.

Let the self-help empire collapse. Let yourself be.