The Book I Never (Ever) Wanted to Read

And how it compelled me to become a women’s health writer.

If I could choose to have dinner with one person and one person only, it wouldn't be Charlotte Bronte.

Or Audrey Hepburn.

Though I love them both dearly.

It'd be Dr. Edith Eger.

Let me tell you why.

One morning, years ago, I was on a walk listening to a favorite podcast, Terrible Thanks for Asking. It’s inspired. The host, Nora, has conversations with regular, everyday people, except there's always a twist: something terrible happened to them.

Didn't see that coming, I know.

In this particular episode on this particular morning, host Nora interviewed Dr. Edith Eger. Now I'm not the kind of person who re-reads or re-watches, or re-listens, but once the episode ended, I hit replay and sat down to listen all over again. After it was over the second time, I found her book (on Amazon, I'll go to confession tomorrow) and placed an order for next-day shipping.

I wish I'd never read The Choice.

I've heard people wax on and on about life-changing books with a bit of an eye roll and timely 'mhmm,' but never had I encountered such a one myself. Sure, I'd underline a favorite phrase here or there, but each book always ended up on my shelf, forgotten in weeks.

Not so this time.

This time, I didn't have a choice but to listen.

I was stuck, and I knew it.

She knew it, too, in her sentences and paragraphs that seemed to see deep inside the places I'd managed to keep hidden—even from myself.

Dr. Eger's memoir The Choice is one of tragedy and resilience as she shares about surviving Auschwitz, beginning life as a refugee in the United States, and pursuing a doctorate in her 50s.

Two lessons stood out in particular:

1. The power of your mind.

2. You are never too old to pursue a dream you thought long gone.

I should have known reading a book by a psychotherapist would bring up some unresolved feelings. But I didn't expect her words to resonate so deeply that I'd find myself reading, re-reading, and underlining like never before.

Sometimes it feels nice to be stuck. But you can’t stay there forever.

Per the title, it's all about choice. The ability to choose how you react to circumstances you find yourself in and what you're going to do next.

Back then, I liked seeing myself as a victim of my circumstances. Not an easy confession, but true nonetheless. It was a comfortable place to land and languish, somewhat morbidly, about my lack of future. Of course I wasn't going to get very far, I'd sigh, because, good grief, do you know what happened? In your world, it may equate to a drip in a lake, but to me, it was the whole ocean shoving me into the sand, time and time again, until one day I stopped trying to get up. I lay there, and it felt nice. Kind of warm and inviting, in a reheated leftovers kind of way. I knew it, and it knew me. I felt safe.

This is where I lay when Dr. Eger's book came flying at me like an unwanted seagull trying to snatch my fries. She was trying to snatch my misery, wasn't she? She called out my stuckness, my unwillingness to see my circumstances for what they truly were: my choice. I had every bit of control to stand up, shake off the sand, and do something different. But I didn't want to.

And yet she knew somehow, with her wild and knowing ways. If anyone has a right to stake out a plot of sand and hunker down until the end of days, it's her. Instead, though not without its peaks and valleys, she became a renowned psychotherapist specializing in treating PTSD, graduating from her doctorate program in her 50s.

What to do when you realize you need to change.

After I set the book down, I knew things couldn't be the same. It wasn't like the books I'd read before, where I would reflect for a moment before moving on to something more pressing, like unloading the dishwasher or watching grass grow.

I had to do something, and I didn't like it. I'm of the opinion no one truly enjoys dredging up the past in hopes of a changed future. But how can we learn, improve, and grow without revisiting the past?

So, to truly move forward, I chose to confront painful memories, ones I wish I'd left locked in a box at the end of my sock drawer for all eternity. But here I was, pulling out the memories, piece by piece—or sock by sock if you will. I chose to confront what kept me stuck—and it hurt.

More than I can say.

Putting one foot in front of the other.

And somehow, once the seas calmed enough for me to stand, I found that I'd survived.

It took time to learn new ways to think and new ways to see the world.

Neuroplasticity doesn't happen overnight, friends.

Yet slowly but surely, I began to change. It’s true that once you're reminded of your agency—with the help of a saintly psychotherapist—you can see your circumstances in a new light. You learn to breathe before assuming the worst. You learn to remind yourself you've been here before and made it through. If you did it once, you can do it again. You learn to put one foot in front of the other, trusting that each day brings you one step closer to who you are becoming.

For me, that someone was curious, kind, loving, and unabashedly herself. Someone who didn't just have a future but a dynamic, exhilarating, life-altering one at that. Turns out, it was not too late to pursue a dream I thought out of reach. And so I find myself here, researching and writing about women’s health, connecting with friends, working at a bookstore, learning to love myself in new ways, and taking each day as it comes.

Writing for women’s health and learning to become an advocate.

Thinking back, maybe that's one reason I'm drawn to women's health advocacy. Our agency, our choice to make decisions about our own bodies, stripped away? As Mrs. Incredible would say, I don't think so.

You, you, and you, have no right to tell me what I can and cannot do with my own body. We know this, and yet policy after policy denies us this right. It’s beyond draining.

But for those of us with means, a voice, and still a choice—as I’m often reminded not all do—we can choose a different way forward.

I can choose to see hope for a different future.

I can choose to see beyond myself and my circumstances.

I can choose to write.

I can choose to listen.

And I can choose to raise my voice for myself and for those who cannot. To advocate for each and every one of us to regain our rights as equal citizens of this upside-down country.

So thank you, Dr. Eger, for helping me remember that I (still) have a choice.