
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.
"When I absorb only the words that hurt me" becomes a defining pattern in Baek's life. Despite receiving compliments, she fixates on negative comments - comparisons to "prettier" sisters or criticisms about looking "old-fashioned." Even when called photogenic, people claim her photos don't match reality, implying dishonesty. This selective absorption extends everywhere. At work, unaddressed agenda items feel like personal rejection. In social settings, unremarked appearance changes become intentional slights. With friends, she dwells on perceived snubs while overlooking genuine care. The pattern self-perpetuates - the more she focuses on negativity, the more validation she seeks. Her breakthrough comes in recognizing she actively filters perceptions rather than passively receives them. Baek's body image issues crystallized in middle school after her sister criticized her arms and an anonymous online comment called her fat. She developed an intricate system of self-criticism, meticulously cataloging perceived flaws. The drive for weight loss persisted through different life stages, unmoved by logic or achievement. Even reaching target weights never satisfied. Therapy uncovered concerning patterns: high eating disorder assessment scores, periods of lost eating control, and stress-induced binge cycles. These body image issues became a proxy for deeper emotional struggles - her body became the battlefield for perceived failures in career, relationships, and self-worth.
"I needed a wound I could see," Baek confesses after cutting her arm - transforming invisible emotional pain into visible physical wounds. For her, self-harm becomes a way to externalize internal suffering, making it tangible. One Sunday, overwhelmed by depression, she isolates herself with biscuits and alcohol. After cutting herself, she experiences temporary relief. Later, on the roof, she contemplates falling - not fearing heights but the pain from falling, revealing she seeks escape rather than death. Baek sees self-harm as a paradoxical survival mechanism, a release valve when crying and drinking aren't enough. The physical pain anchors her to the present, temporarily silencing suicidal thoughts. She exists between living and dying, fearing both equally. Her condition seems predetermined each morning, alternating between bearable and unbearable days, making planning impossible. Everything shifts after she crashes into a truck. Though physically unharmed, the incident transforms her perspective. Having previously fantasized about crashing, the reality makes her realize "it's not my time to die." This brush with mortality becomes her turning point, revealing her previous worries as luxuries.
Baek describes the draining effort of constant social performance - from excessive nodding in meetings to obsessing over email tone. Her psychiatrist helps her understand that while social adjustment is universal, not a personal failing, her intense level of accommodation is unsustainable. A breakthrough occurs when she finally confronts a high school friend about past hurtful weight-related comments, marking a shift from passive accommodation to assertive communication. She recognizes her excessive politeness stems from childhood fears of rejection, and while these fears persist, she's learning to prioritize authenticity over maintaining a perpetually pleasant facade.
Healing from depression emerges through subtle shifts - fewer depressive episodes, better sleep and exercise habits, more flexible thinking, reduced suicidal thoughts, and decreased drinking. Her psychiatrist helps her see all versions of herself as valid, comparing mental illness to physical ailments that deserve understanding rather than blame. This perspective allows her to integrate rather than reject her past self. Her self-relationship evolves from occasional thoughts of liking herself to rarely disliking herself, making self-acceptance her baseline. She recognizes the deep connection between physical and mental well-being. This journey reveals a powerful truth: "I've confined myself to the wastelands within me for too long, ignoring the 'geographies rich with green and blue' that also exist inside me" - acknowledging both her struggles and capacity for joy.
In the final stages of her journey, Baek realizes that some emptiness need not be filled - these natural emotions must be embraced like scars, visible reminders of healed wounds. This marks a shift from her earlier belief that all negative emotions needed elimination. Though her depression has improved, she still experiences boredom, helplessness, and emptiness. The difference lies in viewing these feelings as natural parts of being human rather than enemies to defeat. Once, Baek hated being seen so intensely that she covered herself even when alone and wore dark glasses indoors. Her greatest progress has been learning not to hate herself and reducing her self-directed cruelty. This journey offers no neat resolution. Instead, it presents a hopeful portrait of learning to live with mental illness rather than being defined by it. Healing isn't about becoming someone new, but making peace with who we've always been - scars and all.
Baek's perfectionism manifested through ever-shifting professional goals and weight loss targets, revealing how her body image issues were part of a larger pattern that fed her depression. Her near-death experience brought unexpected clarity, showing how self-harm wasn't merely attention-seeking but a desperate attempt to manage overwhelming emotions when healthier options seemed impossible. By integrating her experiences with body image, self-harm, suicidal thoughts, and social anxiety, Baek developed a more complete sense of self. She learned to acknowledge these aspects of her story without letting them dictate her future. Through therapy, she recognized how perfectionism influenced her body image, work, and relationships. This awareness helped her address root causes rather than symptoms - revealing that healing meant unifying her fragmented self rather than becoming someone new.