The f**king Lilies

September 5, 2026

Last night, in a desperate attempt to continue on my ever-so-slow healing journey, I bought a whole slew of self-help books from Barnes and Noble. I usually don’t buy into the self-help-ness of it all because I know the Rachel Hollis story and others that reveal the truth – the authors of these self-help books are, at worst, horrible money-grabbing grifters who embellish and lie to sell books, or at best, regular ass people who actually don’t have anything figured out (just like the rest of us). But I started reading some articles online about accepting hard things and what I realized was this. The articles didn’t have any words or ideas that I had never heard before, nothing groundbreaking. But the act of reading those words and even writing them down in my little journal was easing my anxiety. I felt the perpetual knot in my stomach that I have learned to live with over the last few weeks ease up on me a bit and my heart slowed to the point where it seemed almost like a normal beating heart. It was as if occupying my brain with really cliche and touchy-feely crap that I have grown to loathe over the years was shoving out some of the negative thoughts or invasive and harmful thoughts that have been ravaging my body like parasites for so long. So there I was, at Barnes and Noble scouring the “You’re not okay, but that’s okay” section, trying to find a book that might fill my head with pretty thoughts so I can evict the headworms I am currently hosting rent-free. I ultimately grabbed a couple of books that were about anxiety, almost from an academic standpoint. But on my way to the register, I saw a very pretty book called “Buy Yourself the F**king Lilies”, and I knew it was the one for me. I can’t resist people who curse. 

I came home and plopped myself in my big fuzzy recliner, and started reading. I knew within one chapter that I had made the perfect choice for bullshit self-help book. The book was written by a former executive at Comedy Central and the theme of the book is self-care and parenting yourself. She tells some stories in the early chapters about her childhood that are almost hard to believe – fighting in the home, verbal abuse from her mother, abandonment. She frames her memoir around a night on her 25th birthday where she blacked out and called her therapist and scared her so much with talk of self-harm and losing control that the therapist left three panicked voicemails on her machine. She woke up completely unable to remember the events of the night before. That was her rock-bottom moment, and every chapter is about something she did in the months and years that followed that night to make her way back to herself. Reading stories like this can be helpful for perspective. I certainly don’t carry around the childhood trauma that she has – my parents were and are baller shot callers who always supported me. I haven’t had any external episode like calling my therapist in hysterics or waking up unable to remember the night before. But the truth is, that what I’ve been experiencing lately is my own version of rock-bottom. To the outside world, it may not present as a desperate cry for help, but to me, it feels like the end of the world. And the idea of “parenting” myself and learning to really care for myself feels incredibly relevant — not in the basic “I can cook and clean and drive a car” sense, but in the “I need to nurture myself and support myself and love myself the way a parent would love a child” sense.

Despite the heavy start, the book is funny and light, and is chock-full of advice that is either 1) shit I am already doing and therefore reassuring to read as part of her success story; or 2) stuff that I hadn’t thought about that I am willing to try. 

Shit that I am already doing or started doing after reading it in this book:

1. Starting where I am. One of the goopy articles I read online the other day was about accepting things that are hard to accept. I am on the tail end of a…relationship? Situationship? Dating experience?…that has left me facing hard truths about what I deserve and what the other person is capable of giving me right now. We all know the heart wants what the heart wants, so I’ve been reluctant to even come to terms with the reality of the situation (I believe the kids call it “delulu”). The article was full of that BS about how acceptance doesn’t mean you are okay with the situation or approve of it, and part of acceptance is allowing yourself to relax with the truth and with the fact that you hate the truth and the truth is hurting you. And it’s not about giving up and saying that you are resigning yourself to live with this hard truth forever and it can never change. It’s simply about being honest with yourself about where you are, so you can move forward from there. Because moving forward from a “fake place” where you wish you were instead of where you actually are, is futile. It would be like trying to find your way out of a forest in Shenandoah with your map app set to some glacier in Yellowstone. 
2. No self-medicating. This is a new development, but I threw out all of the sleep aids in my house and have been pushing my bedtime back bit-by-bit. I have also enacted a no-drinking-alone rule, which is sad because my fridge is FULL of funky sour beers right now that I would love to crack open after a long day of work. But part of starting where you are is actually feeling how you feel instead of numbing it. It’s counter-intuitive because when my head hurts, I take Excedrin. I would never be like “oh I just really need to feel this headache.” But matters of the heart are different, and treating the symptoms isn’t going to help. You have to be present and sober and feel that shit. My friend calls this “raw dogging your emotions”. Fuck, it’s hard to do. 
3. Moving my body. The author had the mandatory chapter on how exercise is the key to everything. She started running and it changed her life. Okay. Okay. I SAID OKAY. I WILL DO IT. I’m trying not to be a drill-sergeant about this, a 15 minute walk with the pup is fine as long as I am moving and I am outside. 
4. Morning pages. Okay this was the one piece of advice she has given so far that I hadn’t considered. She said to wake up every morning and write three pages of journal entry. THREE PAGES. It’s unclear how big of a page we are talking, but she suggested that it equals about 20 minutes of writing. I have to admit, I had every intention of doing this ritual this morning, but then I ended up writing this blog post instead. I think the key to journaling is that it requires less structure and precision than writing you want the world to read. It’s all about seeing where your mind takes you and pulling on threads just a bit more than you do when your thoughts are just floating around that diseased little head of yours. I think I will count this post as today’s morning pages, and then will do the actual assignment every day starting tomorrow. I will report back.  

I haven’t made it beyond chapter 5, so I will have to keep you posted on what I learn as I continue reading. I hate to say it, but I like this book, A LOT. The author reminds me of myself in so many ways, including her writing style. It almost reads like some wiser and more stable version of myself is talking to me from the future, except this version of me is on a first name basis with Jon Stewart, which I doubt is in my real future. I haven’t gotten to the chapter about buying yourself the f**king lilies yet, but if I see some while I’m out today, I may just grab them for the hell of it.