“I want you to feel comfortable, even if a lot of this can be uncomfortable. I want you to feel as if we’ve sat together and I’ve told you a story in person, sitting across from one another, face to face. There are no fancy words here. This is not literary. I’ve gone through some hard things. You may have gone through some hard things. You may know somebody who has gone through some hard things. I’m still going through them, and you, or somebody you love, might be, too.”

David A. Robertson is a prolific Cree author from Manitoba, Canada. I’ve been aware of him as a writer of children’s and young adult works for some time, but this memoir is my first experience of his work. In an informal, conversational, and often meandering style, All the Little Monsters addresses Robertson’s mental health challenges, primarily with intense anxiety about physical ailments (what used to be known as hypochondria). The not-so-little-monster voices of his thoughts whisper over his shoulder about minor physical symptoms—most generated by anxiety itself. They tell him that death is imminent if he doesn’t take cover.

Robertson has been given an array of psychiatric diagnoses—generalized anxiety disorder, obsessive compulsive disorder, depression, and panic disorder—conditions that amplify or sometimes morph into each other. He does not state this, but these are all APA DSM (the American Psychiatric Association’s Diagnostic and Statistical Manual) labels based on lists of behavioural symptoms. If I understand correctly, Robertson has been on alprazolam (aka Xanax) for some years—information which I initially found quite concerning. Benzodiazepines are intended to be used for a brief period, not long-term, as they very quickly create physiological dependence. There’s evidence that they’re associated with cognitive issues, as well as mood and substance use disorders when taken long term. Coming off them is widely known to be devilishly difficult. The author is hopeful he’ll be free of this medication one day.

Robertson traces the roots of his anxious state to his childhood experiences and explains that his condition is intimately connected with his indigenous identity. The latter doesn’t figure much in this book, having apparently been addressed in an earlier one, Black Water. This memoir also isn’t strictly chronological. In the first half, time markers are often lacking, and later on there are unexpected shifts back and forth in time, which disrupt the smooth narration of significant events. I found it challenging to understand how the author’s condition progressed and took hold. I think his editor might have helped him eliminate distracting asides and the repetition of ideas. It’s possible that a decision was made to leave the book as is—to reflect how the anxious mind works. Whatever the case, as a reader, I would have liked to see some sections pared down.

Robertson had a nervous breakdown in 2010, and although he points to four classic life stressors (a new job, moving house, the birth of his fourth child, and the publication of his first book), it is a mystery to him how these worked together to create the tidal wave of physical symptoms that had him twice transported to hospital by ambulance for what he’d soon realize were severe panic attacks. A second breakdown occurred in 2020 after his beloved father’s death.

The author writes that as a young child he had difficulty sleeping, would sometimes pad about the house at night, pull aside the curtains to gaze at the stars, attempt to count them, and feel immeasurably small. He also mentions that as a boy he feared being pursued by fiends, particularly in the basement of his grandparents’ home. Being overweight and bullied did not help matters when he reached early adolescence.

The accidental death of a popular, well-liked grade-eight classmate seems to have had an outsize impact on his younger self. He writes that after the student’s untimely death, something changed for him: “I was obsessed with my relationship with eternity, due to a fragile mortality. . . I could tumble into forever at any moment. I could get into a car accident on the highway. I could get cancer. I replayed moments of my life where I’d almost died, and wondered why I hadn’t.”

It was the death of his grandfather from ALS in 1998, when Robertson was 21, that appears to have jumpstarted Robertson’s hyper-vigilant scanning of his body, a practice which has continued unabated over the years. For a time, every muscle twitch was perceived as a harbinger of motor neuron disease.

As the above contributing influences make clear, the core problem for Robertson was a deep, pervasive fear of death. Having skimmed the first few chapters of Caroline Crampton’s recent book, A Body Made of Glass, I think it’s possible that clinical hypochondria can grow more easily in a physiologically/genetically susceptible individual who faces a life-threatening health condition. In Caroline Crampton’s case, it was a diagnosis of Hodgkin’s lymphoma when she was 17, which was followed by years of aggressive therapy. Robertson, too, faced a major health issue beginning when he was roughly the same age.

In his late teens he had been troubled by a racing heart. He made several visits to his primary care physician and was repeatedly—and, to my mind, negligently—dismissed as having some sort of cardiac equivalent of “growing pains”. In his twenties, Robertson found himself in the emergency department of the hospital nearest the field where he’d been playing ultimate frisbee with friends. His heart was clocked at over 200 beats a minute and wouldn’t normalize with standard medical treatment. He required an emergency procedure called cardioversion in which the heart is stopped and then restarted using a defibrillator.

In spite of this episode, Robertson’s doctor—who had already failed to send his patient to a cardiologist to receive appropriate Holter (heart) monitoring—now informed him it’d likely be another two years for his condition to be investigated. At considerable cost, the author’s parents took him to the Mayo Clinic in Minnesota where the irregular heart rhythm was diagnosed in two days as supraventricular tachycardia, “a fast and erratic heartbeat that affects the upper chambers of the heart.” An “average, everyday heart,” he informs us, “beats about 60 to 100 times per minute”, but during an SVT episode the beats accelerate to 150 to 220 times a minute. While Robertson would ultimately undergo SVT ablation (in which an extra node sending out additional beats is knocked out), benign but disruptive PVCs (premature ventricular contractions, which cause a sensation of a fluttering or skipped beats) have continued to plague him and regularly provoke psychological distress.

The author attributes some of his debilitating health anxiety to having had his heart problem blown off for years: “Doctors had told me things were normal before when I didn’t think they were, and I had been right—things had not been normal. I was positive . . . that my irregular heartbeat was not from growing pains. It felt dismissive and, frankly, condescending . . . Going forward, due to my experience with SVT, my entire mindset changed significantly. I could not trust doctors. I could only trust myself. I knew my body better than anyone . . . no one knew the right answer but me.” He often thought nonspecific symptoms (e.g., headaches and stomach trouble) pointed to dire diagnoses that medical professionals were missing.

Robertson counsels patients suffering from anxiety to resist the temptation to google symptoms, as a snowball effect is likely to result; anxiety will only ramp up. While I take his point, I question the assertion that “the best rule of thumb is to trust the doctor, trust the pharmacist, trust the psychiatrist. They’ve considered the dangers, the mild side effects, and they’ve decided that those often-small risks are far outweighed by the benefits.” In fact, I am not confident that it is always the case that physicians have adequately assessed the dangers of the medications they prescribe or appropriately inform patients of drug risks. A person can go to his primary care physician, report symptoms of anxiety or depression, and have a script for a psychotropic drug in less than 15 minutes. These are not benign substances. They often have black-box warnings. In some patients, mood can even be further destabilized by the substance that’s supposed to treat it, or patients end up having another drug added to address the side effects of the first. And so it goes. It seems to me that better advice might be for people in mental distress to take an informed, trusted, clear-thinking friend or family member to the doctor’s appointment with them. This person can then insure that inquiries are made about about alternatives to medication and clarify the potential risks of any psychotropic drug being considered. Anxious or depressed people are not in the best shape to take in information or make major decisions that can further impact their mental equilibrium.

Robertson describes how his anxiety has manifested in many situations. Several times he expresses deep regret and sadness about the impact his illness has had on his family. His wife, Jill, has been his rock. She is perhaps the one who first spoke back to the “little monsters”. Seeing her husband in a state of paralysis, she calmly instructed him that she was giving him the shopping list and he was going to the supermarket because the family needed to eat. He did it, and it was a turning point.

A key message that Robertson communicates is the need for community. His psychiatrist, a specialist in health anxiety, put him in group therapy, a move he initially wasn’t too keen on. The other patients all had their idiosyncratic health preoccupations, but the mechanisms were common to all. Robertson mentions the use of exposure therapy (not unlike what is done with those who are phobic). Group members were able to cheer each other on as they made small steps towards freedom from deeply entrenched anxiety-directed behaviour.

Robertson offers many coping strategies to his readers, from breathing techniques to affirmations. My sense is that his book is geared mostly towards a young adult audience. This is, as the review’s opening quotation from Robertson states, not a literary work. It is, however, friendly, warm, and encouraging. I don’t think I was the ideal reader, but I do think the book has the potential to reach young people in need.

Thank you to Net Galley and the publisher for a free digital advanced copy of the book. My review is based on the final published version of the book.

David A. Robertson is one of my favorite Canadian, and Manitoban, authors. He is a prolific writer, and with this new memoir, he has gone behind his own scenes, and laid bare the truth of the anxiety and depression that have accompanied his life since childhood. He details the moments he has been crippled by panic attacks and the physical manifestations of his anxiety, discussing openly how it has affected his daily life and that of his family. He discusses the steps he has taken, and those he has not pursued, to find a healthier way forward.

Working in the field of mental health, I have seen how anxiety affects many people, manifesting in numerous forms, with presentation as individual as the client I am working with. Robertson emphasizes this throughout the book. He is sharing his journey, his struggles, his milestones. And yet, his writing style makes this topic approachable for anyone experiencing anxiety, or wanting to know more about its effects on people. I can’t think of a better book to help destigmatize mental health, and open up larger conversations.

Many thanks to NetGalley and Harper Collin’s Canada for providing me with a free ARC in exchange for my honest thoughts. I highly recommend this beautiful book.

If you have been following me for a while, you probably know David is one of my auto buy authors and All the Little Monsters is one of my most anticipated releases for 2025.

This is David’s second memoir and he talks his experience with Depression and Anxiety while also being a father, husband and author.

As a newish parent, whose Anxiety and ADHD escalated in Post Partum I felt seen in a lot of the things David talked about in the book, especially when it came having reservations around taking medication.

Reading All the Little Monsters made me feel less alone and I would recommend this for anyone who might also be dealing with their mental health.

This was a moving and raw, emotionally charged memoir about the author's experience losing his father, his grief, anxieties, depression and work trying to manage all of the above during a pandemic, promoting his books and going through an estrangement with his daughter. Told in a very relatable manner, this was a beautifully honest book that was also great on audio read by the author himself. Many thanks to NetGalley and the publisher for an early digital copy in exchange for my honest review!

CW: suicidal ideation, depression, anxiety

Thank you Net Galley for the advanced copy of All The Little Monsters by David Robertson.
This is such an important conversation to have in our mainstream. I am positive that most people know someone with mental health struggles. I know that anxiety can come in many forms but his inability to do anything seems like it is not difficult to those who don’t have anxiety but they cannot control that.
Robertson is personal in this open conversation
about his struggles and very honest about his lifelong challenge he has in front of him.
Everyone should read this book.
I found that Robertson is a very gifted writer, he writes for different age groups (check out the Misewa series) and writes from a place that uses his Indigenous roots effectively. I would say, the last 60 pages it gets a little bit all over as the focus is lost a bit as he goes back and forth between self help and his story.

Review: All the Little Monsters: How I Learned to Live with Anxiety by David A. Robertson

Robertson’s raw and personal narrative of his experience with anxiety is a beautiful story of mental health, its challenges, and how a person can learn to live with anxiety.

I’ll be honest, I don’t know how to review this book, because it was so personal (the memoir and my connection to it). It meant so much to read someone else’s experience with anxiety with such transparency. There were parts that really helped put how I’ve felt into words. I shed tears when particular expressions and explanations put what I’ve tried to explain in a way that felt more tangible. I could hold those words and feel connection and comfort. Then there were the differences that highlighted the personal nature of having anxiety. It’s different for each person and it’s important to share our stories for the similarities and community, but also for the differences that help avoid generalizations about such a complex experience as mental health and illness.

Throughout Robertson emphasizes the importance of story, community, and finding what works best for each person in managing their own mental health.

Thank you to HarperCollins Canada and NetGalley for this advanced copy and most importantly, thank you to David A. Robertson for sharing his story. I’m sure writing it all down and reliving the experiences to share wasn’t easy.

I thought this book was open, honest, approachable, and informative, and for me as a reader it achieved exactly what the author set out to do.

To start, I have to say how much I love the cover of this book! I also love the title and the comparison of anxiety to the little monsters who have invaded daily life for David. I stepped into this book expecting to learn about anxiety and it's impacts, but I wasn't prepared for how personal the story would be. I am in awe of the bravery shown by David as he so openly shared not only his experience with anxiety and depression, but also how it has impacted his family.

For those of us who try to understand but just don't know, this gives us a glimpse into how difficult it can be to fight the little monsters all day, every day. For those of us who have loved ones who struggle with anxiety, depression or other mental health struggles, although we want to help, empathize and understand, it is hard to feel what you have not experienced. David's story allows us to enter the discomfort if just for a little while.

For those readers who are looking for a community, I believe this book may be the bridge. Thank you David for openly sharing your struggles, my hope is that this will encourage more discussion so that we will continue to talk, share, and support.

Thank you to Harper Collins Canada and NetGalley for the advance copy.