As I finished reading… Maybe You Should Talk to Someone

I’m on the last few pages of Maybe You Should Talk to Someone, and I keep pausing. Not because it’s slow, but because I don’t want it to end just yet. Last night, I was reading it while sitting with my friends. I wasn’t talking much, which is unusual for me.

Someone nudged me. “Why are you so quiet? Are you mad?”

I looked up. “No, I’m just reading this book. Almost done with it.”

They laughed. “You’re reading Maybe You Should Talk to Someone, and you’re not talking?”

Then came the inevitable question. “What’s it about? Is it sad?”

I told them no, it’s not sad. It’s peaceful. But when I started explaining Julie’s story, a woman with cancer preparing for death-their faces changed. “How is that peaceful?”

I stopped. “You know what? Just read it yourself. I can’t just sum it up.”

Because some books are personal. They aren’t just stories; they change something in you. This is one of those books.

Something about this book is calming. Maybe it reminds you that everything, whether healing, growth, or forgiveness, takes time. Nothing happens overnight.

Some stories that stayed with me:

• Julie, the resilient one — She knows she’s dying, but she doesn’t want to chase big dreams. She just wants to work at Trader Joe’s, stocking shelves, and be good at it. That’s it. And somehow, that hit me. We always chase the next big thing, but what if simple things could be just as fulfilling?
• Rita, starting over at 70- She was ready to give up, thinking life had nothing left for her. Then, by accident, she collided with a group of kids. That moment changed everything. She became their “California Grandma,” started painting again, and even returned to the school she once dropped out of-to teach art. Imagine thinking your story is over, and then at seventy, finding a brand new beginning.
• John, the unexpected shift — He starts as that guy. The one who thinks everyone is an idiot. You know the type. But by the end? He softens. Changes. I know a lot of Johns. I don’t usually like them. But this book made me wonder-maybe some people are just hiding a different story beneath the surface.
• Lori herself — She thought therapy was just to “get over” a breakup. As it turns out, it was never just about that. Therapy isn’t about quick fixes. It’s about facing things you didn’t even know you were avoiding.

I’ve realized I have two ways of talking to people.

(You know those days when you don’t need advice, just someone to nod and say, “Yeah, you’re right!”)

There’s a moment in the book where Lori vents about her breakup to her therapist, Wendell. She wants him to agree, to take her side. But he doesn’t. Instead, he points out that she doesn’t want to fix things-she just wants control.

And when she keeps resisting? He kicks her.

Not hard. Just enough to snap her out of it.

I know that sounds weird, but trust me, it *makes sense.* Because haven’t we all been there? Stuck in a loop, telling ourselves the same story over and over? Waiting for someone to either validate us or magically fix everything? But Wendell does something different. He stops the loop.

Maybe that’s what real help looks like.

When Julie dies, the book doesn’t talk about the sadness. Instead, it talks about memory. How people don’t just disappear. They stay in our memories, in small moments, in the stories we have about the time we spent with them.

It reminded me of a conversation I had with my cousin at the start of the new year, about 10 days after my grandma passed away. He had just turned 18 and asked, “How can you be happy when you miss someone so much?”

At the time, I didn’t know what to say. But now, I think I do. You don’t stop missing them. You just learn how they stay with you. In the things they taught you. In the way you speak. In the way you remember them.

Another cousin once told me his divorce was finalized. He said it to inform me and I remember thinking, What do I say to that?

Congratulations?

I’m sorry?

Nothing felt right. And that’s the thing. Grief isn’t just about losing people to death. It’s about endings of all kinds. Sometimes, there are no perfect words.

One of the biggest things this book taught me? Nothing is permanent. Everything is just a pause.

• Relationships? They might not last forever, but they still mattered.
• Pain? It feels endless, but it shifts.
• Change? It’s scary, but it comes whether we’re ready or not.

Even Lori, who once didn’t want to go to therapy because she kinda didn’t trust men after her breakup, found herself memorizing every little detail of Wendell’s office when it was time to leave. The same place she resented had become a place she’d miss. Isn’t that how life works? The things we once dreaded are often the things we get nostalgic about later.

And now that I think about it, I do this, too. There are places I once hated that I now look back on fondly. Little details no one else remembers, but I do.

One of the most surprising things about this book? How different every therapist-patient relationship was.

• Lori and Julie had their bond. Lori remembers her as a friend.
• Wendell dancing with Lori in a session? That was its own thing.
• Rita, the 70-year-old, giving Lori a handmade gift? So personal, so unexpected.
• And John, the guy who started cold? By the end, even he was rooting for Lori.

It made me think. If therapy, a professional setting, can have so many unique relationships, imagine how complex and different our personal relationships are too.

This was a slow read, but I truly enjoyed it. If you’ve ever struggled with grief, change, or just the messiness of being human, this book will sit with you like an old friend.

Originally published at https://riyascollegecompass.substack.com.