Sitting With Discomfort: Reflections and Critique of Stop Saying You’re Fine
Stop Saying You’re Fine: Discover a More Powerful You
By Mel Robbins (Read 2026)
I picked up Stop Saying You’re Fine with curiosity and because it seems “everyone” is reading her. From the outside, it sits firmly in the self-help and coaching genre, direct, motivational, and action oriented. While it wasn’t my favorite read personally, there were moments that invited reflection, particularly around mindfulness, intentional discomfort, and the idea of approaching life with greater presence.
At the same time, reading this book surfaced important questions for me about power, context, identity, and whose experiences are centered when we talk about change, motivation, and “doing better.”
What Felt Meaningful
One of the sections I found most useful focused on looking at things differently; changing routines, slowing down, and intentionally noticing how we move through the world. Robbins suggests that by stepping out of autopilot and approaching familiar experiences with fresh attention, we can create space for change.
This framing felt aligned with how mindfulness is often discussed: slowing down enough to be fully present with the moment, even when that moment is uncomfortable. Robbins emphasizes deliberately placing ourselves in situations that create discomfort as a way to build awareness and growth.
One example that stayed with me was her comparison between watching children do yoga versus watching adults do yoga. Children often approach movement with playfulness and curiosity, while adults tend to bring self-consciousness, judgment, and performance. That contrast pulled me toward an Internal Family Systems lens—specifically the idea of Self-energy: curiosity, openness, presence, and playfulness that emerge when we are less driven by protective parts.
From that perspective, the value isn’t the discomfort itself, but how we meet it—with mindfulness, curiosity, and connection to our values and who we want to be.
Where I Struggled
As the book moved into goal-setting, it became harder for me to stay engaged. Much of the guidance closely mirrors SMART goals, framed with a strong emphasis on personal responsibility, self-prioritization, and pushing past hesitation. While intention and clarity can be helpful, the tone often leaned toward a familiar self-help refrain: you can do anything if you just try hard enough.
That framing felt incomplete. It largely bypasses the realities of systemic oppression, mental health challenges such as depression, trauma, and burnout, and neurodivergence—factors that profoundly shape capacity, energy, and access. Effort alone is not always the missing ingredient, and motivation does not exist in a vacuum.
Looking Through My Lens: Where I Felt Pulled Out of the Book
Reading through my own lens, there were moments that pulled me out of Robbins’ presentation, not because the ideas had no value, but because of how narrowly they were framed. Some of what stood out included:
A strong emphasis on individual willpower, with limited attention to mental health, trauma, or executive functioning differences
Class-blind assumptions about time, money, flexibility, and access to resources
Gendered and heteronormative language that may feel outdated or exclusionary for queer readers
Moments aligned with diet culture and body-based shame rather than body-neutral or compassionate approaches
A narrow definition of growth that prioritizes visibility, productivity, and self-promotion over rest, interdependence, or sustainability
These elements didn’t invalidate the entire book for me, but they did require a critical distance in order to engage with it thoughtfully.
Holding the Cultural Context
It also feels important to name when this book was written. Stop Saying You’re Fine was published in 2011, and many of the ideas and language reflect what was normalized in self-help culture nearly fifteen years ago. Conversations around trauma-informed care, neurodiversity, fat liberation, systemic inequality, and queer identity were far less visible in mainstream discourse at that time.
Holding this context lightly allows space to acknowledge both the harm and the potential usefulness of the book. It doesn’t excuse the limitations, but it helps explain them—and allows readers to engage with the material more consciously and critically.
Who This Book Might Help
From the outside, this book may be helpful as a starting point for people who are drawn to a coaching-style, motivational approach to self-help. For readers seeking clear directives, encouragement, and an upbeat “you can do it” tone, it may offer momentum.
For those seeking nuance, systemic awareness, or a trauma-informed framework, it may feel limited—or require a discerning lens to engage with safely.
Closing Reflection
What I ultimately took from this book wasn’t a new set of strategies, but an invitation to reflect on how I relate to discomfort, mindfulness, and values. For me, change feels most sustainable when it comes from presence rather than pressure—when actions are grounded in self-energy, compassion, and context rather than urgency or shame.
Change doesn’t happen solely by pushing harder. Often, it happens by slowing down, noticing what’s happening inside, and choosing actions that align with our values while honoring the realities of our lives.