How to enjoy your problems

Need to know

As a therapist, I’ve found that so much of what I do is about giving people the space to say what they’re struggling with. It can take them months. Not to resolve the problems, or even to understand them in a deep, philosophical sense, but literally just to realise what their problems are.

This is especially true for people with complicated conundrums, stressors that are difficult to explain. There’s a special loneliness reserved for people in this situation – who are facing problems that seem weird and who worry that, if they let themselves admit how bad things are and how bad they feel, they’ll realise they’re too messed up to recover. If you recognise this description, I know how you’re feeling. I’ve experienced these fears too.

If you can learn to enjoy your problems, that’s enlightenment

The day of my mom’s funeral, I wrote and delivered her eulogy. Trembling and dissociative, I spoke my shaky words into the small crowd of faces, many of whom I didn’t recognise, most of whom avoided looking at me or at her body, freshly embalmed and glowing under buzzing lights like a gas station hot dog. I hadn’t eaten in days, and I’d been up late the night before fighting with my birth mother, whom I had not seen in years. She’d reappeared when she heard the news about her mother, who was also my mother, having adopted me when I was at a young age. Years of poverty and addiction had made my birth mother desperate, and theoretically I knew that. But there’s nothing theoretical about throwing a sandwich at someone, especially when that person is a stranger to you, but also the person whose body made yours, and they’re stuffing your inheritance into a dirty pillowcase to flee with it.

When you tell someone your mom died, they feel bad for you. Even if they haven’t been through that, they know it’s a big deal. And they know what to say: ‘I’m so sorry, Chelsea. Please let me know if I can help.’ But I found that’s not the response you get when you tell the boss at your new job you’re late because you just found out you were never adopted, and the witness signature in your mom’s will wasn’t signed, so it’s actually legal for your estranged birth mother to steal your inheritance and spend it on drugs. (Well, the drugs aren’t quite legal.)

People also didn’t know what to say when they asked why I was crying between therapy sessions, and I told them my ex tried to get back together, but I said ‘no’ because I was in a grief stupor, I’d fallen in love with someone much younger, who then ghosted me and now I’ve lost them both at once. Also, my bank account was overdrawn so I was eating beans until payday, which meant I’d been farting in sessions. Maybe that’s why they just said: ‘Damn. Well… your 3 o’clock is here.’

Put another way: there are some problems that are considered OK to talk about and some that aren’t. There are problems people put on the front page of their memoir, and problems they, well, edit out. But regardless of whether other people get your problems, you have to get them. You have to accept your life, absurd as it may be, and try to find some joy in it. And if you can get past accepting and learn to enjoy your problems? Well, that’s pretty much enlightenment. That’s what this Guide is about.

Whatever it looks like, your life is worth celebrating

I first read the phrase ‘enjoy your problems’ in 2017. I was doom-scrolling Tumblr when I came across a blurry shot of a concrete wall with those words scrawled in Sharpie. It wasn’t well done enough to be called graffiti, which enhanced its charm. I was struck by its simplicity, the way it suggested doing exactly the opposite of what humans usually do. Most of us spend our lives denying we have problems. Does it work? Never. But that doesn’t stop us from wasting a lot of time trying.

After some Googling, I learned that the saying is attributed to the Zen monk Suzuki Roshi, a teacher who helped popularise Buddhist teachings in the United States, founded the San Francisco Zen Center, and wrote the book Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind (1970). In Buddhism, equanimity is one of the four brahmavihārās or boundless qualities, which are seen as keys to cultivating an open, awakened state of being. Equanimity, in modern English, is defined as ‘evenness of mind especially under stress.’

In many mindfulness communities, Buddhist equanimity is interpreted as a sort of neutrality, a lack of preference about what happens to us: ‘I could get the job, or not. I could become wealthy, or I could remain poor. Either will provide opportunities for enlightenment.’ That kind of thing. Often, though, this receptivity gets mistaken for apathy, which can make us think that being numbed out and aloof is the ideal.

But in fact, the Buddha described equanimity a bit differently, as a state of being that is ‘abundant, exalted, immeasurable’. These words imply a more active, engaged way of being in the world, rather than simply not caring. But how does one manage to embrace their fate – with all its inherent problems – surreal as they may be? As a therapist, I’ve studied what scientists have to say about healing but, more than anything, I’ve learned the hard way: by wading through my own mess.

If you’re still reading, chances are your life doesn’t look like you thought it would. Your experience is probably not reflected in anyone’s social media feed or represented by standard-issue sympathy cards. But regardless of how sad or strange things have gotten for you, your story is worth telling. Even with its bewildering side quests and meltdowns on aisle four, your broken life and your broken heart are worth celebrating. What if you stopped waiting to arrive at some imaginary destination where all your problems are solved, and started embracing your life as it is, today? Here are some tips to help you get there.

What to do

Don’t judge yourself

Do you know why they say the grass is always greener on the other side? Because it’s hard to see grass that far away. It isn’t actually greener, it just looks like it because you’re not close enough to see the dead patches and the dog poop. Not only that, but you don’t have to mow that grass. Our own situation always feels worse to us because we’re the ones who have to deal with it.

Everyone, without exception, gets sick of their own problems. And yes, everyone has problems. As a therapist, I’m privy to many people’s truth. My sample may be skewed, but it would shock you to hear the struggles of folks who seem to have it together. Their stress is either just like yours or weird in a different way. That’s because suffering is a universal experience. It isn’t a sign of failure. It’s not proof that divine forces are punishing us. Life is just hard, and often unfair. It’s also beautiful, and it becomes even more beautiful when we stop pretending it should be easy.

When you judge yourself, you add insult to injury. It’s one thing to have problems, it’s another to blame yourself for having them. Yet that’s what many of us do. We tell ourselves that our stress is the wrong kind, or proof that we suck. What if you told yourself the opposite? What if you felt proud of your problems? What if you believed they’re actually lovely problems, the most dignified problems a person could have? Try on this thought for size: all the coolest people have your problems. People wish they had your problems. How does that feel?

Tell your story

Throughout your life, you’ll have to paraphrase your biography many times in many settings. You’ll be asked to reduce the long, complex reality of your experience to bite-sized portions, just a couple quick phrases to get the point across. But when was the last time you really told your story? The messy, unedited version? When was the last time you told the truth of your life to yourself?

Everyone has a story, and everyone’s story deserves to be heard. This isn’t true only about your past, but also about the story of what’s happening now, the parts that are still being written. Telling your story isn’t about coming up with the most brilliant moral or the perfect words. The power is in the simple act of speaking what’s true.

You don’t have to be a writer or motivational speaker to do this. You can tell your story to a friend at a coffee shop, or anonymously in a Reddit thread, or even to yourself in a diary. Describing, in detail, what you’ve survived can empower and energise you. It can help you recognise what you’re capable of. Will it feel weird to be that honest? Maybe. But try to embrace the embarrassment. Be cringe. Make saying the truest thing the goal, not sounding cool or normal or mentally stable. If you’re not sure who the right audience is, here are some ideas:

• new therapist;
• support group;
• Uber driver;
• hair stylist;
• old friend you haven’t caught up with in a while;
• new friend from a friend-making app;
• recurring character in a dream;
• person sitting next to you at a bar; and/or
• neighbour or neighbour’s dog.

Move your body

As a classically trained psychotherapist, I know the power of talking things through. I’ve seen it change my patients’ lives and I’ve felt it change mine. Studies have shown that talk therapy can rewire the brain and may even cause epigenetic changes. That said, there are limitations to what can be accomplished while sitting in an office, and even more constraints around what we can heal with language alone.

In moments of extreme suffering, many ancient traditions suggest movement. In my personal life, I’ve found that dance is what gets me through my darkest hour. I am by no means a professional dancer but, thankfully, that’s not what it’s about. ‘Conscious’ or ‘ecstatic dance’, is a form of movement meditation wherein a practitioner simply moves their body in whatever way feels natural, allowing emotions to arise and be processed through spontaneous motion.

Those who practise conscious dance consistently show significant improvements across all psychological measures, especially mindfulness and sense of wellbeing. If dance isn’t really your thing, there’s also yoga, tai chi or long walks. Researchers have even found that visualising yourself moving produces many of the same benefits, like emotion regulation.

The next time you’re feeling overwhelmed, put on a playlist of songs that reflect the energy you’re feeling. Turn off the lights, dress in your comfiest clothes, and move. Dance, as they say, like no one’s watching. Dance until you stop thinking about the fact that you’re dancing. If you don’t know what to do, choose one tiny movement and repeat it for an hour or until your brain gets quiet, whichever comes first.

Make something

All great art starts with a feeling. Often, the feeling isn’t that pleasant. Artists respond to life’s most challenging moments not by asking ‘How can I fix this?’ but rather ‘How can I explore this? How can I express it?’ Rather than trying to stop feeling heartbreak, great poets ask: what is the nature of heartbreak? What does it feel like? What might it sound like, taste like?

Art’s function is simply to capture the human experience and convey it in an honest and meaningful way. In moments of great despair, let pain inspire you to make something. There is genuinely nothing too sad or disturbing to make art about, so bring your darkest thoughts and feelings. You don’t have to make anything brilliant, and you don’t ever have to show anyone. Similar to telling your story, the act of creative expression is transformative in itself.

The next time you’re feeling stuck on a problem, try to get curious about the colour, shape and sound of how it feels. Write a poem that describes the sensation in detail. Draw a self-portrait, or paint a still life of your dirty room. Make a wreath of dead flowers and hang it on your door. Write a letter to someone who’s hurt you, even if you never plan to send it. Then, write a letter to someone who’s helped you, explaining how their care has impacted your life. Write a song in the shower. Design an altar to your sadness and meditate at the foot of it.

Other things you can make:

• sad playlist;
• three-layer cake;
• knitted blanket;
• friendship bracelet;
• collage;
• bedazzled phone case;
• video montage of memories; and/or
• herb garden.

Cry for help

You may be afraid that leaning into painful emotions will make you less likeable but, often, it’s the opposite. Toxic positivity makes a person rigid and seem controlling, and others can feel put off by the pressure to look on the bright side. Putting on a performance of constant happiness also comes across as phoney and unrelatable, whereas authenticity is refreshing and infectious. Vulnerability creates an opening for genuine connection. Embracing the full spectrum of feeling makes you emotionally available, and others can feel the depth of your presence.

As you lean into painful feelings, you will naturally become more aware of your craving for intimacy. Your body starts to demand that you be in communion with something greater than yourself. Trust that. Craving connection is healthy. Feeling difficult emotions can motivate you to finally seek therapy, get back in touch with family members, join a club, or simply answer more honestly when someone asks how you’re doing. If you’re more introverted, it may inspire you to read stories about others who have survived similar challenges or write a letter to an old friend. Maybe it will lead you to the woods where you can feel your place in the ecosystems surrounding you.

Communities aren’t just people who share certain beliefs and rituals, they’re also people who share problems. Bonding over common struggles isn’t unhealthy. The term ‘trauma bonding’ has made its way into common culture, but it’s misunderstood. A trauma bond is an unhealthy attachment to a person who abuses us. Bonding with others over shared hardship, whether it’s an experience we went through together or something we can relate to, isn’t a problem but a universal human behaviour. Reach into the world with the understanding that others are also surely experiencing this struggle.

With all that in mind, here are some tips for reaching out:

• Start with those you trust. If you have friends, family members or healthcare providers you’ve opened up to in the past, reach out to them first. Even if you haven’t talked in a while, and even if you haven’t ever shared the issue you’re facing, it’s easier to be vulnerable with people with whom we’ve already developed some trust and rapport.
• Be direct. I know it can feel awkward to ask for support, but directness is the way to go. If your goal is to talk about what you’re struggling with, don’t ask them how their work is going. Let it be known that you need help. Ask if they’d be willing to hear about something difficult you’re going through. People often find transparency refreshing (and if they don’t want to hear you out, they can always say no).
• Find a support group. If your social circle is lacking, look for a group to join. There’s been a huge uptick of support groups of all kinds since the pandemic. Many are free or accept insurance. There’s group therapy; peer support groups for folks experiencing things like health issues; local meetup groups focused on special interests and identities; and online help forums for everything from single parenting to publishing to immigration. You may have to do a bit of digging but, trust me, they’re out there.

Pray in your own way

In preparing to write my book A Pity Party Is Still a Party (2023), I studied the mental health benefits of ritual, by which I mean any set of actions that are understood to have emotional or spiritual meaning. I was surprised to find that even simple, made-up rituals have the power to relieve anxiety, help you bond with others and trigger ‘flow’ – a state of deep immersion in an activity that can promote feelings of transcendence and ecstasy. Rituals work both as a preventative measure for reducing stress and for coping with disappointment. Ritual is especially helpful in times of uncertainty, providing a barrier against the physical and spiritual toll that times of change can take on us.

But many have lost touch with the art of ritual and prayer. If you aren’t religious, it might be difficult to imagine what relevance ritual, much less prayer, could hold. I get the question, but I believe in defining the terms loosely. Ritual helps you release your inhibitions and become fully immersed in the present moment. It could be a quiet cup of tea in the morning, a bath at night, or a walk through the woods every weekend.

You also don’t have to be religious to pray. I see prayer as any act that reminds you of your connection to your chosen community, the nonhuman world, and the Universe as a whole. Don’t underestimate how much it can shift your perspective and help you feel less alone.

Praying can also mean grieving. Is there a loss you haven’t fully grieved? It could be the loss of a relationship, friend or even a lifelong dream. It could be a literal death or the death of who you used to be. Grief is inseparable from love; to love is to prepare to grieve, to grieve is to release the love that’s stuck inside of us with nowhere to go. All losses deserve a rite of passage, to be mourned fully. This, too, is a way of praying.

Practically speaking, praying can look like a quiet hike through the woods with your phone off. It can be singing your favourite song at the top of your lungs 10 times in a row. It can be getting up extra early, eating a ripe peach on your front porch and listening to the birds in your yard before anyone else is awake. It could be dancing at a dive bar until you’re covered in sweat and everyone feels like family. Or cancelling your plans to go out, driving to a place of importance with a canteen of hot chocolate, and turning off the car so you can see the stars while you speak to a person you’ve lost.

Redefine happiness

Even if you manage to stop judging yourself for your woes, you might still expect your joy to look like other people’s. This is still a form of self-judgment. In telling yourself there’s a universal standard for what you should want, you reinforce the idea that your authentic desires aren’t good enough. This can cause a lot of inner turmoil, confusion and shame. It can alienate you from yourself and your genuine feelings, which you must be in touch with to make good decisions.

You have the right to redefine – for yourself – what happiness looks like. Instead of trying to live a life that’s free of problems, aim to live a life that fascinates you and feels meaningful. When you can, choose problems that seem worth the challenge, and for the problems imposed on you, try to shift your perspective on them. True wellness is less about avoiding struggle and more about appreciating the full spectrum of experience, from moments of awe to exhilaration and even terror.

I know it’s tempting to believe some future moment has your happiness. That, someday, you’ll figure out how to solve your problems and finally arrive in that place where you can really enjoy things. But your life has already begun. This is it. We don’t know what happens once we die but, even if we lived forever, all we would ever be able to experience is the moment we’re in. Stop and feel how it feels to be you, in this place, this body, and this moment. And the next time you feel something difficult, ask yourself: what if this is a beautiful problem? What if you came to earth just to experience this?

I don’t know if I would choose to come to earth to throw a sandwich at my birth mother, but I do know that when I sit down to do therapy, I feel fortunate to be able to use my hard lessons for good. In these moments, the particular triumphs and tragedies of my life seem small but not insignificant, like my part in a song we’re all singing together. My days are gentler now than they’ve ever been, but I know I’m not immune to problems. On my best days, pain mingles with pleasure and becomes a secret third thing. The whole of my life forms the lens I see the world through, a perspective I’m proud to bring. Each part of it matters. Your experience is also offering you this, a kaleidoscope of sensations that both set you apart and join you with the universal strangeness of being human. Enjoy it while you can.

Links & books

Whenever someone in a therapy forum asks other therapists for their favourite book to recommend to patients, a top answer is When Things Fall Apart (1996) by Pema Chödrön. I’ve given away my copy more times than I can count.

For a more playful guide to facing existential questions, my book A Pity Party Is Still a Party (2023) is about making the most of feeling like crap.

Tara Brach is a Buddhist psychologist whose seminal book Radical Acceptance (2003) offers a practical, compassionate view on how to make peace with the problems we face.

For a quick perspective on what it means to pray in an unconventional way, this extract from Anne Lamott’s book Help, Thanks, Wow (2012) offers a wise, relatable take on spirituality.

Finally, I’d like to share a poem with you, The Thing Is (2002) by Ellen Bass:

to love life, to love it even
when you have no stomach for it
and everything you’ve held dear
crumbles like burnt paper in your hands,
your throat filled with the silt of it.
When grief sits with you, its tropical heat
thickening the air, heavy as water
more fit for gills than lungs;
when grief weights you down like your own flesh
only more of it, an obesity of grief,
you think, How can a body withstand this?
Then you hold life like a face
between your palms, a plain face,
no charming smile, no violet eyes,
and you say, yes, I will take you
I will love you, again.