I Want to Die But I Want to Eat Tteokbokki by Baek Se-hee Summary

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.

• Self-worth: Struggles with feeling “not good enough” at work and relationships.
• Existential duality: Balancing suicidal ideation with cravings for simple pleasures.
• Cultural identity: How Korean societal expectations shape mental health perceptions.

• “I don’t know if I want to live, but I still want to eat tteokbokki.” – Symbolizes clinging to mundane joys amid despair.
• “Revealing my darkness is as natural as revealing my light.” – Advocates for destigmatizing mental health struggles.

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.