#1: Self-Help in the Time of TikTok

The algorithm will not let me rest.

Hello, it’s me, Sarah. And this is Note to Self, a newsletter where I unpack whatever’s been in my notes app, tweet draft folder, or group chat lately. Today, it’s the generic brand, D-list, junior-varsity-ass self-help content plaguing my feeds. Let’s get into it.

A couple of years ago, I was about halfway through a new self-help book when I realized that I didn’t like it. The thesis felt like a reach to me, and a lot of the supporting claims seemed reductive. I was shocked at myself! I’d spent years desperately, uncritically consuming self-help content in search of solutions: books, podcasts, blogs, articles, TikToks, and plenty of someone-else-help (therapy). It hadn’t occurred to me that as I was internalizing all of that, I was actually … growing and becoming a more critical consumer. 

Since that turning point with the bad book, I’ve been tapering my self-help consumption in waves. I realized I didn’t need to be tapped into every self-help trend. In fact, the trendiness of it all started to feel uncanny. There’s the poppy, sans serif Instagram slideshows about inner child wounds, the Twitter threads about trauma dumping, and the TikToks about nervous system regulation. And of course, there’s whatever self-help book is making the rounds on all of these apps, trickling down through the ranks like that Devil Wears Prada monologue, until finally, I see it in a man’s Hinge bio, a shorthand for, “I’m one of the good ones, see!” 

A note to self, if you will.

Obviously, our algorithms are mirrors of our own habits, but I’m not the only one reporting the ubiquity of therapy concepts on social media. Terms like “trauma,” “gaslighting,” and “boundaries,” have become common parlance. And all kinds of people, from licensed professionals to wellness influencers are disseminating an endless supply of self-help screeds on every platform.

On the whole, I think this is good. Everyone deserves access to the language and concepts that can help them heal, and social media lets people share information that has been traditionally kept behind institutional paywalls. All of this helps slowly chip away at the stigma against mental health issues, too.

But not all self-help is created equal to begin with, and social media has a bizarre, corrupting effect on everything. Attention is money, and online especially, people will stoop to incredible lows for attention. 

A few weeks ago I was scrolling through TikTok and I encountered a self-described relationship coach acting out a breakup between two people with “secure attachment styles.” It starts like this. 

“I don’t want to be with you anymore.”

“That’s okay.”

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah, thank you for telling me. I want to be with someone who actually wants to be with me, so this is good information to have. By saying this, you just made it that much easier to say goodbye.” 

It goes on in near-complete monotone, but I’ll spare you. Now, look: I understand that technically, he’s right. Why should we want to be with people who don’t want to be with us? But this creator, who has a link in his bio to buy coaching sessions, is also suggesting that if you were more healed, your breakups might be this painless, too. 

I’ve been seething about this for weeks. 

First of all, having a secure attachment style is not the zenith of mental health that you ascend to, from which vantage point meer mortal failings like “being upset by a breakup” simply don’t happen. Second of all, there is no amount of therapy or self-help content that will turn a breakup into an emotionless exchange of information. 

Of course, I too would like to unsubscribe from bad feelings, but you can’t self-improve yourself out of the conditions of being human. I’ve fallen into this trap more times than I can count. Once, I told a therapist, “I just want to heal so I can be carefree and live my life without anxiety.” She very calmly told me, “you’re never going to be the girl who’s like, ‘woo, I don’t care about anything!’” She actually held up peace signs for that line, which was devastating but still makes me laugh. I was crestfallen! I thought that if I talked about my childhood and did all the exercises and sent the superbill to my insurance company, then I would be “fixed” — into an entirely different person who is never afraid or anxious!

We live in a world where almost every problem can be solved for a price. In one of my favorite essays, “Always Be Optimizing,” Jia Tolentino unpacks the insidious collaboration between capitalism and misogyny, which convinces women to increase their efficiency and attractiveness with Sisyphean flair. The cycle repeats as we buy into the con and then stealthily sell it back to everyone around us. Botox can fix your cankles, these 5 stretches can release pent-up trauma in your hips, and here are 27 subscription meal-planning services! 

Everyone in the world is financially incentivized to tell you that there’s something wrong with you and that they have the solution — even therapists, self-help celebrities, and my nemesis (the random guy on TikTok who inspired this whole tirade). So much of the self-help content available to us is good, genuine, and life-changing, but it can be a slippery slope, especially if you’re reaching for self-help tools from a low place. 

Who among us can’t understand the allure of the spotless psyche? How shiny would life be if you had a perfectly optimized mind? No thoughts, just vibes! I couldn’t tell you, but I’ve certainly tried. And perhaps the most infuriating, liberating thing I’ve learned is that the work is never done, but it helps. The slow gains we make don’t disappear the hurt and loss endemic to life, but eventually, we shore ourselves up from some of the bullshit.