In hilarious and tender essays, #1 At ten years old, Chelsea opened a lemonade stand and realized she’d make more money if the drinks were spiked. So she added vodka to her recipe and used her earnings to upgrade herself to first-class on a family vacation--leaving her parents and siblings in coach. She moved to Los Angeles and got fired from her temp job when she admitted she didn’t know how to transfer calls. She’s played pickleball with the scions of an American dynasty. She’s sexted a governor. She shared psychedelics with strangers in Spain. When she accidentally ended up at dinner with Woody Allen, she was not going to leave the table without asking him a very personal pointed question. She went on national television and talked about having threesomes. She''s never been one to hold back. But this life of adventure and absurdity is only part of her story. Chelsea knows what it is to truly show up for her family--canine and human, biological and chosen. She’s discovered how to spend time with herself, how to meditate, how to be open to love, and how to end a relationship with dignity. She is a sister to the many women who rely on her. Surprisingly vulnerable and always outrageous, Chelsea Handler captures the antic-filled, exhilarating, and joyful life she’s built--a life that makes the rest of us think, <I’ll have what she’s having<.

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Chelsea Handler

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**#1 NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER • In hilarious and tender essays, Chelsea Handler shares her unforgettable story of becoming the woman she always wanted to be.

“A raw and raucous exploration of Handler’s ongoing search for self . . . [She’s] disarming us with humor to get at our softest selves and meeting us with her own.”—Oprah Daily**

*There’s a woman I want to become, Chelsea Handler thought as a child. She’ll be strong and confident. She’ll light up a room and spread that light to make others feel better. She’ll make a living being herself. She’ll be a survivor.
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At ten years old, Chelsea opened a lemonade stand and realized she’d make more money if the drinks were spiked. So she added vodka to her recipe and used her earnings to upgrade herself to first-class on a family vacation—leaving her parents and siblings in coach. She moved to Los Angeles and got fired from her temp job when she admitted she didn’t know how to transfer calls. She’s played pickleball with the scions of an American dynasty. She’s sexted a governor. She shared psychedelics with strangers in Spain. When she accidentally ended up at dinner with Woody Allen, she was not going to leave the table without asking him a very personal pointed question. She went on national television and talked about having threesomes. She's never been one to hold back.

But this life of adventure and absurdity is only part of her story. Chelsea knows what it is to truly show up for her family—canine and human, biological and chosen. She’s discovered how to spend time with herself, how to meditate, how to be open to love, and how to end a relationship with dignity. She is a sister to the many women who rely on her.

Surprisingly vulnerable and always outrageous, Chelsea Handler captures the antic-filled, exhilarating, and joyful life she’s built—a life that makes the rest of us think, I’ll have what she’s having.

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Little Girl

When I was a little girl, I spent large parts of my day dreaming about the kind of woman I’d one day be. I wanted to fast-forward through all of my youth and misery, and become the more glamorous, successful, adult version of myself.

She would be nothing less than fierce, this woman I’d become. She would never have to worry about fitting in—she wouldn’t be the type of person who valued herself based on other people’s opinions. She wasn’t going to be someone who followed what others did; she would be a leader. She’d be someone who would never have to rely on another person for anything.

She would be confident and never hesitate to stick her neck out for other people. Anyone who needed a hand would be able to depend on her. She’d be strong and she’d be beautiful, with a mind so sharp no one could ever call her just a pretty face. She’d be so much more than that.

She’d be able to light up a room, and her light would spread, making others feel brighter, better. She would be passionate and fiery, and courageous. She’d never be afraid to tell the truth, no matter the consequences.

She’ll be different, this woman. She’ll set an example for all other women. She’ll soar through the world, traveling the globe, leaving her mark everywhere she went.

She’ll break some hearts and heal others. She’ll have men at her feet, begging to be with her, and women at her feet, begging to be her friend. She’ll cast a wide net, and have friends all around the world. She’ll have different loves throughout her life—and then, maybe one true soul mate, an everlasting love. Or maybe not. She’ll be a beautiful hurricane.

She’ll be respected for many reasons. She’ll love people passionately and save people’s lives with her generosity. She’ll be educated about global politics, read every book she can get her hands on, and speak multiple languages. She’ll have certainty in her own opinion and the power to change others’. She’ll have the courage of her own convictions and the boldness to know she is capable of whatever lies at the heart of her dreams. She will be the baddest. The best kind of bad. A matriarch.

This woman I’ll become, she will never be silent.

She’ll be brave, and strong, and able to get out of any bad situation. She will have the kind of bravery it takes to walk into a situation knowing that the worst could happen, and she’ll jump in anyway. The type of bravery it takes to walk away from something or someone you love, knowing that you are walking away not in weakness but in strength. Knowing that you will survive, because you are a survivor. She’ll be a survivor.

Why do I have to wait so long to get to be this woman? I’d wonder. Childhood has been such a waste of my time.

When we are children, the essence of who we are is front and center. We are unscathed by what can very often be an ugly world. Bringing that child into adulthood, even only for moments at a time, is how we remain true to ourselves. Hold on to that child tightly, as if she were your own, because she is.

Hard Lemonade

At ten years old, I decided to start my own lemonade business. I asked my sister Shana if she would be interested in going into business with me. She was five years my senior, and she insisted that in order for her to come on board, this would need to be a joint venture—we’d have to split everything fifty-fifty. I begrudgingly agreed, but I was firm in letting her know that I would be the one making most of the business decisions, and that in order to make some real money, we would be reimagining the lemonade stand business. Ours would be a hard lemonade stand, serving gin, whiskey, and tequila.

On our first day, we made thirteen dollars, and after splitting it down the middle, I was left with six dollars and fifty cents. This was not going to work. I needed a greater profit margin and less overhead. The bottom line was that I would have to find cheaper labor.

“You’re fired,” I told Shana as we walked down the dirt road back to our house with all of our lemonade equipment.

She tried to explain to me that I wasn’t in a position to fire her, but I reminded her that it was …