Intro Blog

　
My love affair with books started at a young age. A little golden books were the best. I still have a copy of my favorite "The Tiny Tawny Kitten" It's a story about a little kitten who overcomes her fears and befriends the big scary dog next door. Even at a young age I had a fascination with overcoming fears and strengthening one’s self. I would spend the weekend at my grandma's house and we would take our strawberries and sugar, a big stack of books and go sit in her scratchy chair and read. "The Great Cookie Thief" was her favorite. Mine was "The Amazing Mumford Forgets The Magic Words", which you do know were " A LA PEANUT BUTTER SANDWICHES!" Grandma would have to animate those words to my satisfaction before we could turn the page. As I got older Judy Blume and Beverly Clearly were favorites. And I'm not ashamed to say that I have the entire Flowers in the attic series...well maybe a little.
I'm sure I wasn't just born with this love affair. Both of my parents loved to read. My Grandmother loved trashy romance novels which I thankfully can say I never grew to appreciate. It was my mother who showed me how to use books as a tool to help inform and guide me through life. The sex talk? My mother sat me down with a copy of "Where did I come from", read it to me and then we had a conversation about it. Do you know how embarrassing that was for a grade school er to read that book with their mother!? THEY HAVE ANIMATED PENIS PICTURES IN THAT BOOK!! Her belief was that any major (or minor) life event could be helped out with an informational book on the subject. This has proven to be an awesome parenting tool for me as well. My father, on the other hand, was a different story; he was only interested in helping himself. He suffered from depression and would turn to books as a way to gain some insight on himself. I honestly don't think he was trying to help himself, just find any documentation on why he might be the way he was. That way he could use it as an excuse the next time someone tried to hold him accountable for his actions. He would dog ear pages, highlight key points, and write his own notes on any available free space.
The information and escape isn't the only thing I love about the book. I love walking down an aisle of a book store, hundreds of books lined up neatly. Some of their covers glossy with bright colors trying to grab my attention as I walk by. Others darker, with a more subtle appearance, going on the principle that you shouldn't judge a book by its cover. I love the sound a hard cover book makes when you open it for the first time. The flap of a softcover book as you fan out the pages. The way it feels in your hand as your read the back cover. And I love the smell of a new book. I always open up to the middle and sniff. What does it smell like? Knowledge? Adventure? Nope...Print. I've got a thing for it.
I have always imagined that someday I will have a room in my house filled with floor to ceiling bookshelves. Books, a huge rug, and a chaise lounge. I probably should put a lamp in there too, I'm getting older and my eyes aren't what they used to be. My husband, with frequency, will comment on my collection. "You bought another book?" That statement has hidden meaning. Why did you buy another book when you have a dozen or so you haven't even read yet?? I recently bought a kindle in hopes that I would save a little money and cut down on the book clutter...I hate it. My kids use it.
After I have read a book and put it in its place on the shelf its holds a story far beyond the words written down. It's now filled with thoughts and feelings of my own. The energy that surrounded my life at the time I read it. Some women collect shoes...I collect books.

But it was August 31,1997 that birthed my obsession with self-help books. It was my awakening, my HOLY SHIT I HAVE PROBLEMS moment...my very first panic attack. And after I had been through doctor appointments, test after test, and found out that I was having anxiety, I bought my first self-help book. "Feel The Fear And Do It Anyway" I was hooked. I held that book in my hand like I had found the secret to life itself. Essentially I had, because I didn’t stop at one, or two. My collection has grown in size and content over the years. I have even bought books on subjects that I don’t even have any issues with. The pages are filled with so much knowledge all related to helping you become a better person. Don’t get me wrong, some of these books disappoint me. I have a few rules when buying these books now. I stay away from religious books. If that is something you find helpful, go for it. It's just not my thing. I also stay away from books that become too technical, I would love to know the science behind depression, but an entire book about that science isn’t going to help me do anything but understand just that. That being said, every single self-help book I have ever read has left me with at least a few points I find helpful. Religious, technical, you name it. I have taken a little bit from every book, and will continue to do so until I become perfect. OK, so forever.
These books can be a little frustrating as well. I have read entire books telling me to do this, don’t do that, and never EVER go that way. Feel this, don’t feel that and if you do, STOP IT! Um OK, HOW?? Because if I knew how I wouldn’t have spent 15 bucks!
I hope someday to write my own "real talk" self-help book. In the meantime what a better way to explore human nature than to interact with other humans!?