Furiously Happy by Jenny Lawson

Why I love it: 

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This is a book I find myself picking up time and time again because it will always make me cackle or snort with laughter, remind me how strong the power of resiliency and hope are, and leave me feeling deeply connected to the people depicted in Jenny's stories which renews my own appreciation for my loved ones. It tackles many of the hard realities of living with mental illness without taking itself too seriously... because how can it when the cover is a taxidermied raccoon who the author tried to take pictures of riding her cat  at 2am when she couldn't sleep? His name is Rory by the way (the raccoon, not the cat) and he has his own stunt double, for obvious reasons.

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How I see the book and/or the stories in it to support self-care:

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• The entire idea of being "Furiously Happy" is a hybrid of a personal affirmation and a cognitive reframe. Jenny knows all too clearly how sad, disappointing, terrifying, and painful life has the ability to be, so she decided "I AM GOING TO BE FURIOUSLY HAPPY, OUT OF SHEER SPITE." She wrote this book as a way to chronicle the abundance of unexpected experiences she had finding extreme joy by saying yes to "anything ridiculous" she could. She is very clear that being furiously happy "is not a cure for mental illness... its a weapon designed to counter it. It's a way to take back some of the joy that's robbed from you when you're crazy." She still feels and struggles with all the other emotions that can be more uncomfortable to sit with... and while doing so, she now also goes seeking out opportunities to be "vehemently happy" and strives to not let her fear and anxiety stand in her way. When we shift our perspectives and decide to start looking for things intentionally, whether it be happiness, gratitude, kindness, or compassion, we often find a lot more of it than we expected, either because we just notice it more or we find ourselves cultivating it more intentionally in our lives. 

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• Throughout her stories, Jenny's relationships with her family, friends, and fans stand out like shining, beautiful gems. Her husband, Victor, is prominently featured throughout the book and the way she depicts the absurdness of some of their fights, the wittiness of their banter, the intentionality of his care for her, and the pleasure they ultimately seem to experience in sharing their lives together is one of my favorite aspects of this book. Their partnership models frank authenticity with tender adoration, flavored with irreverent humor and an open acceptance of ridiculousness. While their marriage seems to be a lot of fun, Jenny also doesn't shy away from the complexity of their lives and the impact her mental illnesses have on the people she loves, offering compassion to those on both side of the relationship dynamic.

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• Jenny writes with such unapologetic honesty about the struggles she faces with her physical and mental health, openly sharing her diagnoses (clinical depression, severe anxiety disorder, impulse-control disorder with mild self-harm behaviors, avoidant personality disorder, occasional depersonalization disorder, mild OCD, trichotillomania, ADHD, rheumatoid arthritis, and autoimmune issues) and her experiences dealing with them as well as the impact they have on her life. While she shared some incredibly raw stories about the hardships these challenges can cause her (she details a particularly unnerving episode of self-harm in "The Fear" chapter) she also shares her insights and some of her strategies around navigating them ("Appendix: An Interview with the Author" is an excellent example of this) as well as a strikingly profound moment she doesn't think she would have ever experienced if not for her insomnia, anxiety, and pain ("Pretend You're Good at it").  Yet through it all, her honesty is infused with hope and often, a truck load of humor to boot. This balance does a remarkable job of humanizing Jenny's experiences and helps them feel relatable and not overwhelming, regardless of the reader's personal experience with health struggles.

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• Not only is there great chronic, invisible, and fluctuating illness representation but in her chapter "We're Better Than Galileo. Because He's Dead" she talks about the Spoon Theory (p. 241) of energy and attention management in a way that is amusing, understandable, and highly relatable. This is a concept that is helpful to communicate challenges with mental bandwidth and physical ability and while there are lots of resources out there to explain it, I deeply appreciate that she spoke to it here.

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• The last two chapters of the book ("It Might Be Easier. But It Wouldn't Be Better" and "Epilogue: Deep in the Trenches") read like a love letter to the reader, inspired by Victor's response to Jenny's wondering that "his life might be better without her." She does a beautiful job weaving hope and love into times that feel hopeless, scary, and overwhelming, a gift that can help others to find light in the times that feel too dark to navigate.

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"I tried to take a subtle selfie of how awkwardly alone I was in the dark restaurant but I forgot my flash was on and then when I tweeted the picture my phone made a loud wolf-whistle. In my rush to leave, I tripped on the edge of their fancy koi pond and stepped on a fish. The fish was fine but my right shoe was a mess so I tried to use the ceiling fan in my room to dry my shoe but it was taking too long and I couldn't go speak with a shoe that was making squelching noises so I stuck my shoe onto the fan blade because I thought inertia would force the water out. It seemed to be working until I turned the fan up too high and my shoe shot off the blade and hit me in the face. It was like I was being kicked in the head with my own stupidity."

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“When you come out of the grips of a depression there is an incredible relief, but not one you feel allowed to celebrate. Instead, the feeling of victory is replaced with anxiety that it will happen again, and with shame and vulnerability when you see how your illness affected your family, your work, everything left untouched while you struggled to survive. We come back to life thinner, paler, weaker … but as survivors. Survivors who don’t get pats on the back from coworkers who congratulate them on making it. Survivors who wake to more work than before because their friends and family are exhausted from helping them fight a battle they may not even understand. I hope to one day see a sea of people all wearing silver ribbons as a sign that they understand the secret battle, and as a celebration of the victories made each day as we individually pull ourselves up out of our foxholes to see our scars heal, and to remember what the sun looks like.”

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