I have a stack of self-help books on my nightstand. I’ve read about half of each of them. I start one, but then I find something else about myself that I need to fix, scour the internet obsessively for the book that will change my life, and cast the first book aside. Over and over and over again.
I’ve got books about dieting, books about not dieting, books about listening to my kids, and books about making sure my kids don’t end up hating each other. I’ve got books about compulsive eating, books about how to get my kids to eat (but not too much!), books about living wholeheartedly, and books about managing money.
I’ve mastered none of these skills.
Yet I continue to search, to find the one thing that will fix whatever is broken inside me.
But I don’t know what that is. I continue to treat the symptoms, not the disease. I find something new to obsess about pretty much on a daily basis. My google search button is just about worn out. I’d say I don’t know where to start, but clearly starting isn’t the problem. It’s finishing that I am unable to do.
Maybe it’s my fear of failure. If I follow through with something – if I finally give up carbs or set a strict budget or take the right vitamins – what if it doesn’t work? What if my unnamed issues – whatever they are – are still there?