How To Be Human and Not An Asshole

Be Human

A practical, profanity-laced handbook for people who hate self-help but still want better relationships.

A cluttered office desk with two overlapping sets of colorful sticky notes, each in different handwriting styles represented only by scribbled lines, facing opposite directions as if in silent argument. A stress ball with a worn surface sits between them like a neutral buffer, next to a dented stainless-steel water bottle and tangled headphones. Overcast daylight filters through a nearby window, creating diffused, soft lighting that reveals dust motes in the air. Shot in photographic realism from a slightly top-down angle, with sharp focus across the entire frame, the mood feels candid and slightly tense yet hopeful—capturing the messy, practical reality of trying to work well with others without being a jerk.
Two mismatched, empty armchairs—one vivid mustard corduroy, the other deep teal velvet—angled slightly toward each other across a low, scratched coffee table in a small living room. On the table sits a shared bowl of popcorn, a single remote, and a coaster with a glass of water, all subtly imperfect. Evening lamplight spills warmly from an off-frame floor lamp, creating a soft pool of light and gentle shadows that suggest an honest, sometimes awkward conversation space. Captured at eye level in photographic realism, with the composition using the rule of thirds, the atmosphere feels bold, real, and unpolished, emphasizing comfort with conflict and connection over perfection.

A Real Guide To Not-Sucking

This is a straight-talking, swear-friendly guide to being less of a jerk and more of a human. Tanya Ruckstuhl skips cheesy affirmations and offers practical, real-world tools for handling conflict, awkwardness, and everyday relationships without selling your soul.

Read overview
A cluttered office desk with two overlapping sets of colorful sticky notes, each in different handwriting styles represented only by scribbled lines, facing opposite directions as if in silent argument. A stress ball with a worn surface sits between them like a neutral buffer, next to a dented stainless-steel water bottle and tangled headphones. Overcast daylight filters through a nearby window, creating diffused, soft lighting that reveals dust motes in the air. Shot in photographic realism from a slightly top-down angle, with sharp focus across the entire frame, the mood feels candid and slightly tense yet hopeful—capturing the messy, practical reality of trying to work well with others without being a jerk.
Two mismatched, empty armchairs—one vivid mustard corduroy, the other deep teal velvet—angled slightly toward each other across a low, scratched coffee table in a small living room. On the table sits a shared bowl of popcorn, a single remote, and a coaster with a glass of water, all subtly imperfect. Evening lamplight spills warmly from an off-frame floor lamp, creating a soft pool of light and gentle shadows that suggest an honest, sometimes awkward conversation space. Captured at eye level in photographic realism, with the composition using the rule of thirds, the atmosphere feels bold, real, and unpolished, emphasizing comfort with conflict and connection over perfection.
A cluttered office desk with two overlapping sets of colorful sticky notes, each in different handwriting styles represented only by scribbled lines, facing opposite directions as if in silent argument. A stress ball with a worn surface sits between them like a neutral buffer, next to a dented stainless-steel water bottle and tangled headphones. Overcast daylight filters through a nearby window, creating diffused, soft lighting that reveals dust motes in the air. Shot in photographic realism from a slightly top-down angle, with sharp focus across the entire frame, the mood feels candid and slightly tense yet hopeful—capturing the messy, practical reality of trying to work well with others without being a jerk.
Two mismatched, empty armchairs—one vivid mustard corduroy, the other deep teal velvet—angled slightly toward each other across a low, scratched coffee table in a small living room. On the table sits a shared bowl of popcorn, a single remote, and a coaster with a glass of water, all subtly imperfect. Evening lamplight spills warmly from an off-frame floor lamp, creating a soft pool of light and gentle shadows that suggest an honest, sometimes awkward conversation space. Captured at eye level in photographic realism, with the composition using the rule of thirds, the atmosphere feels bold, real, and unpolished, emphasizing comfort with conflict and connection over perfection.

“Finally, a self-help book that talks like my friends and actually helps me not be a jerk.”

— Aya Nakamura