I had a therapist in my 20s obsessed with Brene Brown. And honestly, fair. I can wax on about Kristen Neff now myself. Sometimes we just find an idea that works for us. I do think there's a lot of good here; I also think there's plenty that misses the mark for me. In any case, it's eminently quotable and I think there's something for everyone.

Like any therapy adjacent book: take what works and toss the rest. YMMV. 

I wanted so badly to like this book. Surreal queer coming of age nostalgia with a side of mental illness is basically my thing. 

This is kind of a genre mash up mess. There are glimpses of what could have been a good (and deeper) exploration of Margaret's sexually,  gender identity, and eating disorder but all of it is overshadowed by the fantastical elements the author throws in. They don't help the reader understand Margaret more and the whole thing feels like it would have been better served with a more focused scope. 

Someday I will stop thinking that reading a Jodi Picoult book will be a satisfying experience and not just a hate read of a book from a superficially educated author writing out of her depth.