The best books on mental health & the stories we tell that keep us sick

Point blank, this book changed the way I see the world. While on its surface, it might not seem like a mental health book, it is a powerful testament that story is the bedrock of consciousness. In reading it, I was asked to reevaluate many of my ideas and truths.

It illustrated how much of what I think makes us different is a shared story and a place where I can connect to others if I’m willing to rattle the cage of the stories I “know” to be “immutable.” This translates into every story I tell about myself and my world. I’ve read it repeatedly, and every time, I pull something new from it.

It has helped me grow by expanding my worldview and has led me to a more comprehensive understanding of the mind, humanity, and the stories we share.

I wept through the first chapter of this book. Again, it might not appear as a mental health book on its surface, but as I was invited into a deeper understanding of how culture, and specifically what we call ‘patriarchy,’ shapes us all, it shook me to my core.

This book helped me understand that this is a shared cultural burden and that while I might “benefit” from it, I am not strictly the ‘problem.’ As it relates to mental health, it helped me understand that the emotional castration our culture imposes on young boys who become men leads to anger, violence, and trauma, seen most evidently in the oppression of women. That trauma hurts us all and underlies almost all mental health issues. 

I was fascinated by the depth of the impacts of trauma and could almost feel how it lives in my cells as I learned that trauma is literally stored in my body. This book almost scared me because it clearly shows how much I am unconsciously informed by the various circumstances and experiences of my history.

It also helped me understand that it is not inescapable and can be healed and overcome. It made me curious about how I might unconsciously reinforce trauma through repeated stories that keep me trapped in behaviors. In doing so, it helped me build on the idea that while painful events have shaped my ‘creation stories,’ the stories I tell about those events can keep me tethered to trauma or set me free from it. 

As someone with bipolar 2, I’ve struggled with addiction and compulsive behavior all my life. And for so long, those behaviors kept me locked in a cycle of shame. I was told that addiction is an incurable illness, which tethered me to my own story of brokenness.

This book helped me reframe my entire understanding of drugs, addiction, and how the war on drugs has done far more harm than good. It helped me understand that addiction is not a personal fundamental flaw but a symptom of broader systemic issues whose impacts are expressed through individuals, creating a culture of rejection and isolation.

Most importantly, it helped me release the story of shame and powerlessness that I’d inherited, and that had been reinforced by rehab and so many clinical interactions. It was as if someone had turned on a light in the basement of shame and pointed out a staircase I never knew was there. 

I’ve read this book over and over and highlighted something new every time. Somehow, through the lens of Nazi death camps, Frankl validates everyone’s suffering, including my own. I’ve always known that suffering is an inescapable part of the human experience, but this helped me understand that to the brain, it isn’t relative in the ways I always thought.

Furthermore, this book helped me understand that my coping mechanisms inform suffering’s hold on me. Stories are a coping mechanism, and I learned that redirecting my attention and creating my personal narratives around what is meaningful to me rather than the source of pain is key to the cage of suffering. This book changed how I understand the importance of purpose and the power of what I build my stories around.