MissFit Writes' favourite books about identity, belonging, faith, and the messy business of being yourself

No memoir has changed the way I think about identity quite like Educated.

I went into it expecting a story about education. What stayed with me was something much deeper—the emotional cost of questioning the beliefs, people, and world that shaped your entire life.

What I admired most about Tara Westover's story was that she didn't make things simple. There were no easy heroes or villains. Just people, complicated relationships, and the uncomfortable reality that sometimes growth means questioning everything you once accepted as truth.

I kept thinking about how difficult it can be to become yourself when doing so means letting go of parts of the person you were taught to be.

Few books have made me question my own life quite like Untamed.

I didn't connect with this book because my life is anything like Glennon Doyle's—it isn't. I connected with it because she puts words to something I think many of us experience: the quiet pressure to become the person everyone else expects us to be. It made me ask myself a deeply uncomfortable question: Whose life am I actually living?

I found myself thinking about all the ways expectations can slowly shape who we are, often so quietly that we don't even realise it is happening. How much of who we are is actually us—and how much of it is the version we've learned to perform for everyone else?

I kept thinking about how much courage it takes to stop performing and start listening to yourself instead.

I love The Forty Rules of Love because it left me with more questions than answers—and that's probably exactly why it stayed with me.

I've always been drawn to books that don't try to wrap everything up neatly or tell you exactly what to believe. What stayed with me wasn't one particular moment or lesson, but Elif Shafak's willingness to leave room for mystery, faith, doubt, and transformation.

I loved that the book allows different perspectives to exist without insisting that one has to be completely right and the other completely wrong. As someone who is naturally drawn to questioning and reflection, I found myself slowing down while reading it and thinking more deeply about spirituality, compassion, love, and what it really means to grow.

It's one of those rare books that doesn't end when you close the last page. It quietly continues the conversation in your head.

I've always been drawn to writers who can say something deeply emotional without using a hundred words to say it. That's probably why Milk and Honey stayed with me.

I found myself returning to its pages because the poems never felt like they were trying too hard to impress me. They were simple, vulnerable, and honest. And sometimes, that's exactly what makes writing powerful.

As someone who writes both poetry and reflective essays, I especially appreciated the way Rupi Kaur moves between vulnerability and strength. The book reminded me that you don't always need elaborate language to make someone feel something.

Sometimes, a few carefully chosen words can stay with you far longer than an entire chapter.

Few novels have made me think as deeply about family, identity, and inherited expectations as A Woman Is No Man.

What stayed with me wasn't just the story itself, but the quiet emotional weight carried by its characters. I appreciated the compassion Etaf Rum brings to each of them, even when their choices are difficult to understand.

I found myself thinking about the expectations we inherit from our families and cultures, and how easily they can pass from one generation to the next. Sometimes, questioning those expectations can feel like you're questioning the people you love—or even giving up a part of yourself.

This book reminded me that finding your own voice often begins with having the courage to question the stories you've always been told.