
In this raw therapy memoir, Baek Sehee navigates depression while craving life's simple pleasures. Endorsed by BTS and translated by an International Booker Prize nominee, it's the contradiction we all live - wanting to disappear yet still hungering for spicy rice cakes.
Baek Se-hee, bestselling author of I Want to Die but I Want to Eat Tteokbokki, is a South Korean essayist and mental health advocate whose candid exploration of depression resonates globally.
Born in 1990, she studied creative writing and spent five years in publishing before channeling her decade-long experience with dysthymia (persistent mild depression) into this genre-blending memoir and self-help work.
Structured as transcripts of her therapy sessions, the book delves into anxiety, self-doubt, and healing through everyday struggles, anchored by her relatable craving for the spicy rice cake dish tteokbokki.
Originally self-published in 2018, the Korean edition became a cultural phenomenon, later translated into English by Anton Hur in 2022 and endorsed by BTS leader RM. Its raw authenticity led to a stage adaptation, amplifying conversations about mental health. The two-part series has been translated into over 20 languages, bridging personal vulnerability with universal resonance.
This bestselling memoir by Baek Sehee blends therapy session transcripts with personal essays about her 10-year struggle with dysthymia (chronic mild depression). Structured as 12 conversations with her psychiatrist, it explores self-doubt, anxiety, and the paradox of clinging to life’s small joys—like craving tteokbokki—amid emotional exhaustion. The raw, intimate format bridges memoir and self-help.
This book resonates with readers navigating mental health challenges, particularly those interested in therapy dynamics or South Korea’s cultural approach to depression. Its candid tone and relatable struggles make it ideal for fans of hybrid memoirs like Reasons to Stay Alive or The Midnight Library.
Yes—it offers a rare glimpse into South Korean mental health care while normalizing conversations about depression. Critics praise its vulnerability, though some note the advice feels surface-level or culturally specific. Its viral title and Anton Hur’s translation have fueled global appeal.
Baek’s sessions highlight societal pressures to mask emotions, contrasting with her psychiatrist’s pragmatic advice. While South Korea’s universal healthcare includes mental health support, the book subtly critiques workplace culture and patriarchal norms that exacerbate anxiety.
Sessions focus on cognitive reframing and medication, reflecting common psychiatric practices there. Baek’s therapist prioritizes functional improvements (e.g., work performance) over emotional exploration—a approach some Western readers find pragmatic, others impersonal.
Some readers find the therapy advice overly simplistic or culturally narrow, noting Baek’s privilege in accessing long-term care. Others critique repetitive themes, though many argue this mirrors the cyclical nature of depression.
The spicy rice cake represents fleeting comforts that anchor Baek to life. It’s a metaphor for how small, visceral joys can counterbalance existential despair—a motif resonating with global readers.
Its exploration of post-pandemic mental health fatigue and Gen Z disillusionment remains timely. The blend of memoir and self-help aligns with trends toward vulnerable, hybrid nonfiction.
Hur preserves the conversational tone while adapting cultural nuances, though some phrases feel distinctly Korean. Critics applaud his balance of accessibility and authenticity.
Born in 1990, Baek studied creative writing, worked in publishing, and rescued her dog Jaram. Her decade-long therapy journey inspired this book, which began as a viral essay series in South Korea.
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"I want to die, but I want to eat tteokbokki."
She wants to be seen yet fears visibility.
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When I absorb only the words that hurt me...
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Depression isn't the temporary sadness many imagine. It's the peculiar contradiction of simultaneously wanting to die while craving spicy rice cakes - finding life unbearable yet still clinging to small pleasures that make it worth enduring. This paradox forms the emotional core of Baek Sehee's journey through depression, captured in transcripts of her actual therapy sessions that invite us into the most vulnerable corners of her mind. The result feels less like reading a book and more like sitting beside a friend who finally feels safe enough to share their deepest wounds. What makes this account so powerful is how it refuses to offer tidy solutions. Depression isn't "the flu of the mind" with a clear treatment protocol - it's a chronic condition requiring ongoing management rather than a complete cure. Baek doesn't guide us toward eliminating depression but shares her experience of learning not to retreat into familiar patterns when depressed. She wants to be seen yet fears visibility, often spending hours preparing for social events only to cancel at the last minute. She craves connection while isolating herself, sometimes ignoring messages from friends for weeks while scrolling through their social media posts. These contradictions aren't signs of weakness - they're the complex reality of living with depression, manifestations of the internal struggle between engagement and withdrawal.