My (Not So Secret Anymore) Addicton

I have a slightly geeky obsession. Maybe less of an obsession more of an addicton. It's not train spotting, caravanning or bird watching... I heart self help books. 

As soon as I let slip to anyone I'm reading a self-help book, I can't help but note a sense of eye-rolling and hand to mouth sniggering. Whether that is real or imagined I don't know. Because as much as I love my self-help books, they kind of make me feel a bit dirty, as if I'm buying into something that is potentially a con. Admittedly there's something a bit sleazy and cultish sounding about the term "self-help book". They have a greed focussed, money hungry, and frankly, slightly weird reputation. Self-help also hints at a kind of control freakery which most people would rather not be attributed to? And because of this, I’m often a bit embarrassed about people seeing my bookshelf. 

The thing is, there are many self-help books out there masquerading as something else, any book that teaches how to do something could be described a self-help book; anything that gives guidance on life. It could be suggested that even the Bible is a kind of self-help book. (Please note, I am not being flippant about the Bible here, I am merely stating that the end result is arguably the same). But self-help is just another term for self-improvement. And I will admit (slightly pinkish cheeks aside) that I just want to be the best person I can be.

Ever since I can remember I have loved self-help books. My first ever self-help book purchase was aged 13, titled (slightly mortifyingly) "For Weddings A Funeral and When You Can't Flush the Loo". The title only highlights that my social paranoia is rooted in my childhood, and my desire to appear confident and calm in every situation was discovered early. I have always wanted to learn as much as possible about life. We are all born with zero knowledge and yes, we pick up bits along the way from friends, parents, teachers. But no one person could possibly know everything about everything. Maybe some people are lucky enough to learn through the course of their life how to be the best person they can be, but I don't think I was there on the day they were teaching panic attack prevention and cure, how to stop your home turning into a pig sty, parenting a difficult 2 year old or hot lover GCSE at school. And frankly I’m just far too impatient to wait for “life” to teach me. I want results NOW. And maybe these books aren't teaching me anything I don't know already, maybe time management books should say the best way to get more done is to stop reading a bloody book and get on and do stuff, ditto house cleaning. But I genuinely enjoy reading this stuff... however odd that makes me.

I have an embarrassingly huge library of self-help books, including an entire shelf on parenting. Honestly, looking at some of my books you'd think I would have the best behaved kids in the world. You could also be forgiven for thinking I am the best organiser, housewife, lover, stylist and an expert in any other of the huge number of subjects I love to read up on. And I'm constantly finding new things I can learn about and a new craze I can latch onto. I discover a sudden and deep seated fear that I'm merely mediocre at something and want to be better at it, and instantly I'm on Amazon looking for a book to transform me. I'm won over by the synopsis that promises life changing results and it's in my shopping cart before you can say Tony Robbins. But I don't know why I'm so ashamed of it, I just want to improve myself; none of us were born perfect (except maybe Jennifer Aniston but I think she's the exception not the rule).

Take parenting, there are so many different approaches, many of them totally conflicting. You've got your Gina Ford who some might describe as overly harsh, although her methods are used the world over to get babies into routines and sleeping well, then the other end of the scale there is Attachment Parenting which is about holding your kids as much as possible, sharing your bed with them and letting them be a baby as long as possible. And about a billion different approaches in between. And I've tried them all. Not necessarily because I think I'm a bad parent (although that particular belief has fuelled valuable and enjoyable self-help book shopping sprees), but because I love to learn. And for me learning is one of the most exciting things we can do and access to knowledge is one of the greatest un-sung privileges in life.

I think the reason that I'm a tad embarrassed about this is that I have another problem. Just because I love these books doesn't mean that I have actually put any of the ideas into practice. Because despite my obsession with self-improvement, I admit I also have a terribly short attention span. I usually get no more than a few chapters in before I feel like I'm "cured" or can now declare myself an expert and excitedly move onto the next project.

The man often teases me about my self-help book obsession, and ability to move from one to the next without finishing any of them. But I do believe that knowledge really is power, and even if I learn just one thing, one tip, that helps me get through the day with more decorum, be a better parent, organise my time and my stuff - and looking sexier and more stylish whilst doing so, it's been a worthwhile exercise. I just need a self help book to teach me how to finish self help books.

OK it's not very cool and does nothing for my street cred. But it's time for me to admit to my dependence. I am a self-help book addict. If there’s something that can be taught I want to learn. And if that makes me a geek then I'll take that. And the best thing is I know all the tricks to be a stylish, house-proud, sexy and capable geek, or at least I will do once I finish reading the book.

What Women Want

So the man has been spending every waking moment trying to create a beautiful garden for our family, and I can’t help but complain I never see him. But if he wasn’t doing it, I would probably complain that it wasn’t getting done.

I sometimes feel a bit sorry for men. Years of women’s liberation has created a confusing situation. Treat us mean, keep us keen, but be a bastard and you’re out of here. We want to feel like we’re paying our own way, but if you don’t offer to pay we think you’re not a gentleman. We want chocolates but we’re constantly on a diet so we can’t eat them, but if you were to buy us apples we would ask if you were trying to say we’re fat. And the biggie “Am I fat?” Right answer is no, but if we know you’re lying it begs the question, what else are you lying about? And if you do answer no, we’ll give you a million reasons why that’s not true, poking and prodding at areas of skin that barely see the light of day usually, until eventually the poor man has to respond that yes, in that area you might be a bit wobbly. WHAT? You’re telling me I’m FAT?

Poor old men, they can’t win really. Us girls often bemoan our unromantic partner, but standard response to spontaneous flower or chocolate giving is “what have you done?“ or “what do you want?“ or "couldn't you have been a bit more imaginative?". And the rules concerning what type of flowers or chocolates are appropriate seem to get more complicated as the years go on. The man once bought me a huge bouquet of yellow roses, fearing that I would complain that red roses were unoriginal (I probably would have). But my reaction was “Yellow roses? They mean friendship, not love!“ Garage flowers say they haven’t made the effort, but if they went to a florist and spent a lot of money we would complain that they spent too much.

Every gift giving occasion the man asks me “What do you want?” I get so cross, because surely he should know what I want by now (and besides asking me 2 weeks before Christmas just reminds me that he’s only just thinking about it and hasn’t spent the last 6 months coming up with the perfect gift, as I have done for him). So off he goes to get me something, and in my mind I do know what I want, and I hope and I pray that he will get it. Then if he doesn’t, I’m disappointed. He should know what I want by now! So why didn’t I just tell him what I want? Because I want him to know already, I want to know that he knows me that well, and knows what I want. And I want a surprise. But you can’t have a surprise if you know what you want. That’s true, but I still want a surprise.

I was talking to a couple friend the other night and it’s her birthday coming up. Her hubby admitted that he is buying her lots of gifts so hopefully one of them would be right. Suddenly it dawned on me that lots of men seem to do that, and I thought it was a generosity thing. No, they are understandably hedging their bets.

I often bemoan that the man isn’t romantic. He never surprises me with gifts and after 12 years, big romantic gestures are a little thin on the ground.  But I can’t help but wonder if I’ve maybe beaten him down just a little over the years. He says I have a load of complicated rules about what I want and what I don’t want, a fact which I have always denied, and he always tries to stick to them. It’s so simple, just get me something lovely, or do something lovely. When I asked the man at Valentines for something romantic you could see the strain in his face. He looked instantly stressed and harassed at the thought of having to define “romance” in a gift, without breaking my self imposed rules of not too obvious, but not so unobvious that it loses its point, not too big, not too small, nothing that might make me fat but something that I consider a treat, don’t spend any money but don’t be tight, a surprise but something I really want… when I see it like that I can understand why he finds it so hard. Even I can admit myself, the rules are somewhat contradictory. I often complain how difficult men are to buy gifts for but actually, give them an Xbox game and a box of Cadburys Heroes and they’re happy, not so easy to shop for us girls.

And it’s not just gifts. Men have to do the right thing too. How long should you wait before you call after a date? The next day might seem to desperate but leave it any longer and you’re ignoring us. And what’s a good date anyway? Dinner and a film is a standard option, although could be construed as unoriginal and boring, but take us paintballing and we’ll complain about messing our hair up.

I once went out with a guy who gave me a gift every day the first week we were together, and wrote me lots of slushy love poems. I can now look back and appreciate how lovely the gesture was, but at the time I remember saying to my girlfriends that it was getting a bit much and maybe I should ditch him.

I am the first to admit that I am high maintenance, although I prefer to say I have high standards. I do complain of a lack of romance in my life, but the man maintaining me all these years, and trying to stick to my complicated list of prerogatives, well that's pretty romantic in itself.

What do women want? It’s a question that has been asked since time began, and my response? We don’t even know ourselves, and if we did know, we wouldn’t tell men because we feel you really should know by now.