I’ve talked about it a little bit before, but I’ve struggled with depression and anxiety for much of my adult life. It comes and goes in cycles—I have periods where I feel more anxious or more sad, as well as periods where I feel generally okay. I’ve worked on these issues in different ways over the years, but one of the things that’s remained true is that my mental health sometimes gets in the way of my ability to pursue goals, to overcome obstacles, and to live the best possible life. Acknowledging that can turn into a vicious cycle, as I feel sad or anxious about the ways that my mental health has held me back, but I also feel completely incapable of doing anything about it.
And even though it's not overtly about mental health, I think that’s something that Jami Attenberg has absolutely fucking nailed with All Grown Up.
I read this book in a single day, seven hours from start to finish, and most of those hours were absolutely gut-wrenching for me. The first chapter especially was like a kick in the face. I wanted to highlight basically every sentence and quote it all over the place, but that’s unreasonable. So I’ll just start by telling all of you that this book is phenomenal, and that the cutesy cover art is kind of misleading.
Our protagonist, Andrea Bern, has got problems in her life that have made it difficult for her to grow up and to live her life to the proverbial fullest. She once dreamed of being an artist, but somewhere along the way she gave up on those dreams and got an unfulfilling corporate gig. She’s got emotional baggage left over from the death of her father when she was a teen, which have bled over into her romantic life in the usual ways – casual sex, self-sabotaging behavior, a lack of fulfilling relationships. Suddenly, she finds herself at 40 with little to show for it in the way of a satisfying personal identity or personal growth. It’s an extended period of arrested development that shows no signs of ending. Then her brother and his wife give birth to a daughter with severe birth defects and her life begins to change in ways that force her to look at herself in a new way.
This book is described as a novel in vignettes, a description that I love. It’s not interconnected short stories, but it’s also not told sequentially with a distinct narrative arc. We bounce around through different periods of Andrea’s life, seeing the events that have shaped her life and her mental health into what it is today. The events don’t necessarily inform each other, but they all inform Andrea. It’s not always easy to be inside this character’s head, as she’s often unstable, self-doubting, self-pitying, and self-sabotaging. If you need likable characters, Andrea’s probably not the woman for you. But I found her sense of stasis and sense of inability to self-correct phenomenally relatable and poignant. I found it inspiring—it made me want to get up and do a little self-correcting of my own. Reading this was the emotional equivalent of having someone reach into my chest, pull my heart out from behind my ribs, place it on my sleeve, and tell me, “There, that’s where that belongs.” I only wish there’d been more.