This content contains affiliate links. When you buy through these links, we may earn an affiliate commission. I don’t usually like self-help books anymore. It’s nothing against the books themselves. It’s that I went through a phase when I read so many of them that I burned out. I no longer feel supported when I try to read a self-help book. Instead, I feel preached at. It often boils down to “follow my advice or you’re in for a miserable, unproductive life.” In other words: my way or the highway. Get up earlier? I already get up at five a.m., and this hasn’t dramatically improved my life. Make your bed? I remember to do this maybe half the time. The world hasn’t ended. Stop procrastinating or you’ll show you have no respect for yourself? I mean, in my case, it shows that I have chronic depression and anxiety. You know what? Maybe it is the books themselves. Not all of them, of course. I loved The Artist’s Way. Big Magic. Atomic Habits. But most of …