I Want to Die But I Want to Eat Tteokbokki by Baek Sehee

You know that feeling when you’re scrolling through Instagram, double-tapping photos of your friends’ perfect lives, all while wrapped in a blanket burrito questioning your own existence? Well, Baek Sehee’s debut memoir “I Want to Die But I Want to Eat Tteokbokki” captures that millennial malaise with startling authenticity.

This runaway South Korean bestseller offers an intimate glimpse into the author’s 12-week journey through therapy as she grapples with depression, anxiety, and an overwhelming sense of emptiness—all while craving her favorite comfort food. It’s like peeking into the diary of that friend who always seems to have it together on the outside, but is quietly falling apart on the inside. And let me tell you, it’s a wild ride.

A Voice for the “Worried Well”

From the very first page, Sehee’s candid and often darkly humorous voice pulls you in. As a successful young social media director at a publishing house, she epitomizes the “worried well” – those high-functioning individuals who seem fine on the surface but are drowning in self-doubt and existential dread.

“I don’t know, I’m—what’s the word—depressed?” she awkwardly tells her psychiatrist in their first session. “Do I have to go into detail?” It’s a moment that will resonate with anyone who’s ever downplayed their own struggles or felt silly seeking help for problems that don’t seem “bad enough.”

Throughout the book, Sehee wrestles with the nagging question of whether her pain is valid. She compares herself to others who’ve experienced more obvious trauma, wondering if she even deserves to feel this bad. It’s a relatable dilemma for many millennials raised on participation trophies and told they can be anything they want—only to find themselves floundering in adulthood, unsure of their place in the world.

The Tteokbokki Conundrum

At the heart of Sehee’s story is a central paradox, captured perfectly in the book’s title. How can someone be so depressed they want to die, yet still crave the simple pleasure of tteokbokki—those gloriously chewy, spicy rice cakes that are a staple of Korean street food?

This contradiction becomes a powerful metaphor for the push-and-pull of depression. Sehee finds herself caught between crushing despair and fleeting moments of joy, between the desire to disappear and the stubborn will to keep existing. Her tteokbokki cravings represent a lifeline, a reminder that even in her darkest moments, some small part of her still wants to engage with the world.

It’s a nuanced portrayal of mental illness that avoids both glamorization and overly grim bleakness. Sehee shows us that depression isn’t always dramatic sobbing fits or inability to get out of bed (though those moments certainly happen). Often, it’s a subtle undercurrent of dissatisfaction and self-loathing that persists even when life seems objectively “good.”

A Peek Behind the Therapist’s Couch

One of the book’s most fascinating aspects is its structure, which alternates between transcripts of Sehee’s therapy sessions and her own reflective essays. It’s like getting two books in one—a fly-on-the-wall view of the therapeutic process and a more polished exploration of the author’s inner world.

The therapy transcripts are raw and often uncomfortable, capturing those awkward silences and moments of resistance that anyone who’s been in counseling will recognize. We see Sehee struggle to open up, deflect with humor, and gradually build trust with her psychiatrist. It’s a reminder that healing isn’t a linear process, but a messy, sometimes frustrating journey of fits and starts.

Meanwhile, Sehee’s essays dive deeper into the roots of her depression, exploring everything from childhood traumas to the pressure of living in image-obsessed Seoul. She’s brutally honest about her flaws and contradictions, admitting to judging others harshly while simultaneously craving their approval. It’s the kind of unflinching self-examination that makes you want to both hug the author and take a long, hard look at your own issues.

A Cultural Lens on Mental Health

While Sehee’s struggles are universally relatable, the book also offers fascinating insights into mental health attitudes in South Korea. She describes a society where seeking therapy is still highly stigmatized and “saving face” often takes priority over emotional well-being.

There are moments that might make Western readers cringe, like when Sehee’s psychiatrist suggests her depression might stem from not being married yet (she’s only in her early 30s!). But these cultural differences add an extra layer of complexity to the narrative, highlighting how our understanding of mental health is shaped by the societies we live in.

The book also touches on uniquely Korean phenomena like “jung,” a concept of emotional connection that doesn’t quite translate to English. Sehee’s exploration of how jung impacts her relationships and sense of self adds depth to her story and offers food for thought about the cultural aspects of emotional well-being.

Not Your Typical Self-Help Book

If you’re expecting a neat, tidy story of triumph over depression, “I Want to Die But I Want to Eat Tteokbokki” isn’t it. And honestly? Thank goodness for that. There are already plenty of inspirational memoirs out there with perfectly packaged lessons and miraculous turnarounds.

Instead, Sehee offers something messier but ultimately more honest. By the end of the book, she hasn’t magically “cured” her depression or figured out all of life’s answers. But she has gained valuable tools for managing her mental health and a deeper understanding of herself.

The progress is subtle – learning to challenge negative thought patterns, setting boundaries, finding small moments of joy. It’s the kind of incremental growth that might not make for a dramatic movie climax, but feels true to the reality of living with mental illness.

A Voice of a Generation?

Since its release in 2018, “I Want to Die But I Want to Eat Tteokbokki” has become a cultural phenomenon in South Korea, resonating especially with young women. It’s even gotten the coveted BTS stamp of approval, with members of the K-pop supergroup recommending it to fans.

So does Baek Sehee deserve the mantle of voice of a generation? Well, yes and no. Her experiences certainly capture the anxieties of many millennials struggling to find their footing in an uncertain world. The pressure to present a perfect image on social media, the constant comparisons to peers, the feeling of being simultaneously over-educated and under-prepared for “real life”—it’s all achingly familiar.

But Sehee herself would probably balk at such a grandiose title. One of the book’s strengths is how it resists easy categorization or sweeping statements about An Entire Generation. Instead, it offers one woman’s deeply personal, often messy journey towards self-acceptance and mental health.

The fact that so many readers see themselves reflected in Sehee’s story speaks to the power of vulnerability and the universality of human emotion. In sharing her own struggles so openly, she creates space for others to acknowledge and validate their own pain.

Final Thoughts: A Bittersweet but Ultimately Hopeful Read

“I Want to Die But I Want to Eat Tteokbokki” isn’t always an easy read. Sehee’s unflinching honesty about her darkest thoughts can be uncomfortable, and at times you might want to reach through the pages and give her a good shake (or a hug, depending on the moment).

But it’s also a surprisingly funny book, peppered with wry observations and self-deprecating humor. Sehee has a gift for finding the absurd in even her lowest moments, like when she obsesses over whether her psychiatrist thinks she’s pretty or debates the merits of different methods of suicide.

Ultimately, this is a book about learning to sit with discomfort—both your own and other people’s. It’s about accepting that life is full of contradictions and that healing is rarely a straight path. And yes, it’s about finding joy in small things, like a steaming plate of tteokbokki on a bad day.

If you’re looking for a relatable, refreshingly honest take on mental health, “I Want to Die But I Want to Eat Tteokbokki” is well worth your time. Just maybe grab some comfort food of your own before diving in – you’re gonna need it.