What My Bones Know: A Memoir of Healing from Complex Trauma

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NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER • A searing memoir of reckoning and healing by acclaimed journalist Stephanie Foo, investigating the little-understood science behind complex PTSD and how it has shaped her life

“Achingly exquisite . . . providing real hope for those who long to heal.”—Lori Gottlieb, New York Times bestselling author of Maybe You Should Talk to Someone

ONE OF THE BEST BOOKS OF THE YEAR: The Washington Post, Cosmopolitan, NPR, Mashable, She Reads, Publishers Weekly

By age thirty, Stephanie Foo was successful on paper: She had her dream job as an award-winning radio producer at This American Life and a loving boyfriend. But behind her office door, she was having panic attacks and sobbing at her desk every morning. After years of questioning what was wrong with herself, she was diagnosed with complex PTSD—a condition that occurs when trauma happens continuously, over the course of years.

Both of Foo’s parents abandoned her when she was a teenager, after years of physical and verbal abuse and neglect. She thought she’d moved on, but her new diagnosis illuminated the way her past continued to threaten her health, relationships, and career. She found limited resources to help her, so Foo set out to heal herself, and to map her experiences onto the scarce literature about C-PTSD.

In this deeply personal and thoroughly researched account, Foo interviews scientists and psychologists and tries a variety of innovative therapies. She returns to her hometown of San Jose, California, to investigate the effects of immigrant trauma on the community, and she uncovers family secrets in the country of her birth, Malaysia, to learn how trauma can be inherited through generations. Ultimately, she discovers that you don’t move on from trauma—but you can learn to move with it.

Powerful, enlightening, and hopeful, What My Bones Know is a brave narrative that reckons with the hold of the past over the present, the mind over the body—and examines one woman’s ability to reclaim agency from her trauma.

Review

“Absorbing . . . a reckoning, and Foo approaches it with candor and rigor . . . profoundly affecting.”—The New York Times

“Foo’s happy ending is nothing short of deliverance—rich and joyful and full of care the child was denied. . . . Possibility still glows around the edges of her sight.”—USA Today

“An unflinching reminder of the hidden struggles many face, told with the keen eye of a researcher and the brutality of a documentarian.”—NPR

“Many trauma survivors struggle to describe the seemingly indescribable sense of carrying something intangibly sharp—something there but not there—inside. But in What My Bones Know, Stephanie Foo details that and more. Her achingly exquisite memoir takes us on a journey through complex trauma, illuminating her path of self-discovery and providing real hope for those who long to heal.”—Lori Gottlieb, New York Times bestselling author of Maybe You Should Talk to Someone

“At turns funny and devastating, terrifying and transcendent, Foo’s quest for understanding should be relevant not just to someone with C-PTSD but to anyone seeking to grow and be present in this one life.”—Jenny Odell, New York Times bestselling author of How to Do Nothing

“Funny and tragic, unflinchingly honest and relentlessly hopeful, What My Bones Know is a marvel of a book.”—Ed Yong, New York Times bestselling author of I Contain Multitudes

“Foo’s journalistic eye serves her generously through a hard-won examination of trauma and its aftermath. I cried while turning the pages; I knew that I was witnessing an astonishing literary endeavor. For others who live with C-PTSD, this is a crucial, life-changing book.”—Esmé Weijun Wang, New York Times bestselling author of The Collected Schizophrenias

“What My Bones Know is an absolute triumph. Foo’s beautifully written memoir is a balm and a light for anyone afraid that their early traumas have permanently stunted their capacity for connection, love, and purpose. This book is a must-read for anyone hungry for hope.”—Christie Tate, New York Times bestselling author of Group: How One Therapist and a Circle of Strangers Saved My Life

“A testament to Foo’s determination, What My Bones Know is an act of reclamation—and a bold, defiant proclamation: ‘I am here.’”—Kat Chow, author of Seeing Ghosts

“This book is a major step forward in the study of trauma. It’s also a huge artistic genre-busting achievement. Stephanie Foo’s brilliant storytelling and strong, funny, relatable voice makes complex PTSD enjoyable to read about.”—Kathleen Hanna, singer for Bikini Kill, Le Tigre, and The Julie Ruin

“This is a work of immense beauty.”—Publishers Weekly (starred review)

“Foo’s writing is shrewdly insightful. In telling her story so compellingly, she joins authors such as Anna Qu and Ly Tran in adding nuance to the ‘model minority’ myth, if not actively subverting it. . . . Highly recommended.”—Library Journal (starred review)

About the Author

Stephanie Foo is a writer and radio producer, most recently for This American Life. Her work has aired on Snap Judgment, Reply All, 99% Invisible, and Radiolab. A noted speaker and instructor, she has taught at Columbia University and has spoken at venues from Sundance Film Festival to the Missouri Department of Mental Health. She lives in New York City with her husband.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Prologue

“Do you want to know your diagnosis?”

I blink and stare at my therapist. She gazes at me from her serene office, where sunshine glows through her gauzy curtains, birdsong bursts through the windows, and one of those little fountains with a giant marble on it burbles, which I guess is supposed to be relaxing. In the back of the room is a framed copy of the poem “Desiderata.” You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here.

But I’m not really here. My therapist’s warm office is in San Francisco, and I am in my dark, freezing, six-by-six-foot office in New York City, talking to her through a small window on my computer. The reason I know about the poem in her office is the same reason I can’t believe she is only telling me my diagnosis now: I’ve been her client for eight years.

My sessions with my therapist, whom I’ll call Samantha, began when I was twenty-two, when I lived in San Francisco and needed help with a very San Francisco problem: an INTJ tech-nerd boyfriend. I lucked out with Samantha. She was acerbic and clever but loving. She’d always make time for an emergency session after a breakup and even bought me a beautiful leather-bound travel journal before my first solo trip abroad. My sessions with her quickly moved beyond boy talk, and we began discussing my monthslong bouts of depression and my constant anxiety around friendships, work, and family. I loved her so much that I kept seeing her via Skype after I moved across the country to New York when I was twenty-six.

Our session today begins with me complaining about my lack of focus. Samantha asks me to do some positive visualizations and suggests I picture myself in a safe space, as a powerful being, full of light. I try half-heartedly, but I always feel corny doing this stuff. Then, as she does every week, she tells me not to be so hard on myself. “I’m sure you’re being more productive than you’re letting on,” she says, ignoring my eye rolls. “I’ve seen you pull yourself out of depressions like this before. I know you can pull yourself up out of this one.”

But that’s exactly the problem. I’m tired of pulling. I don’t want to pull anymore. I want a dumbwaiter, or an escalator, or a floating rainbow drug cloud. Anything to lift me toward emotional stability. To fix me. I’ve suffered from anxiety and depression since I was twelve years old. The pain is a fanged beast that I’ve battled a hundred times throughout the years, and every time I think I’ve cut it down for good, it reanimates and launches itself at my throat again. But in recent years, I’d convinced myself that this battle was completely pedestrian. I mean, twentysomething millennials are all really stressed out, aren’t they? Isn’t depression just shorthand for the human condition? Who isn’t anxious here in New York, the capital of neuroticism?

That is, until I turned thirty. One by one, I’d watched my erratic friends hit thirty and quickly become adults. They reported that they had less energy, so they stopped caring as much about what other people thought and settled into themselves. Then they bought beige linen pants and had babies. I’ve waited for that mature, elevated calm, but my thirtieth birthday was months ago, and if anything, I care more than ever. I care about shopping cart placement and plastic in the oceans and being a good listener. I care about how I seem to f*** everything up all the time. I care and I care, and I hate myself for it.

My friends got one thing right, though: I’m so tired now. Thirty years on this earth, and I’ve been sad at least half that time.

On my subway rides to work, I stare at the supposedly neurotic masses—who are calmly staring at their phones—and think: Maybe I’m different from them? Maybe something is wrong with me? Something big. In the past week, I’ve been scrolling through various mental illnesses on WebMD, searching for symptoms that sound familiar to find an answer.

Now, near the end of my session with Samantha, after we’ve exhausted the usual pep talks and affirmations, I gather up my courage to ask about my internet diagnosis. “Do you think I’m bipolar?”

Samantha actually laughs. “You are not bipolar. I am sure of it,” she says. And that’s when she asks, “Do you want to know your diagnosis?”

I don’t yell, “Lady, I’ve been seeing you for a f***ing decade, yes I want to know my goddamn diagnosis,” because Samantha taught me about appropriate communication. Thanks, Samantha.

Instead, I say, “Yes. Of course.”

Something in her jaw becomes determined, and her gaze is direct. “You have complex PTSD from your childhood, and it manifests as persistent depression and anxiety. There’s no way someone with your background couldn’t have it,” she says.

“Oh. Yeah, PTSD.” Post-traumatic stress disorder. I had a crappy childhood, so I kinda figured that.

“Not just PTSD. Complex PTSD. The difference between regular PTSD and complex PTSD is that traditional PTSD is often associated with a moment of trauma. Sufferers of complex PTSD have undergone continual abuse—trauma that has occurred over a long period of time, over the course of years. Child abuse is a common cause of complex PTSD,” she says. Then her eyes drift to the corner of the screen. “Oh—we’re out of time! Let’s continue this next week.”

The first thing I do after our Skype window closes is bring up Google. I’ve never heard of complex PTSD. Surprisingly, there aren’t that many results. I go from Wikipedia to a government page about C-PTSD as it relates to veterans. I read the list of symptoms. It is very long. And it is not so much a medical document as it is a biography of my life: The difficulty regulating my emotions. The tendency to overshare and trust the wrong people. The dismal self-loathing. The trouble I have maintaining relationships. The unhealthy relationship with my abuser. The tendency to be aggressive but unable to tolerate aggression from others. It’s all true. It’s all me.

The more I read, the more every aspect of my personhood is reduced to deep diagnostic flaws. I hadn’t understood how far the disease had spread. How complete its takeover of my identity was. The things I want. The things I love. The way I speak. My passions, my fears, my zits, my eating habits, the amount of whiskey I drink, the way I listen, and the things I see. Everything—everything, all of it—is infected. My trauma is literally pumping through my blood, driving every decision in my brain.

It is this totality that leaves me frantic with grief. For years I’ve labored to build myself a new life, something very different from how I was raised. But now, all of a sudden, every conflict I’ve encountered, every loss, every failure and foible in my life, can be traced back to its root: me. I am far from normal. I am the common denominator in the tragedies of my life. I am a textbook case of mental illness.

Well, this explains it all, I think. Of course I’ve been having trouble concentrating on my work. Of course so many people I’ve loved have left. Of course I was wrong to think I could walk into fancy institutions full of well-bred, well-educated people and succeed. Because the person with C-PTSD, the person who is painted here on the internet, is broken.

The orange walls of my office close in on me. I don’t belong here. I don’t belong anywhere. I try to stay another couple of hours at my desk in a desperate attempt to prove to myself that I am capable of a full workday, but I can’t see my computer screen. My co-workers, laughing outside my door, sound like jackals. I grab my coat and rush out of the building, into the cold air, but even outside, I haven’t escaped. With every step, one word echoes in my head: Broken. Broken. Broken.

For ten years I thought I could outrun my past. But today I realize that running isn’t working. I need to do something else.

I need to fix this. Fix myself. To revisit my story, one that has until now relied on lies of omission, perfectionism, and false happy endings. I need to stop being an unreliable narrator. I need to look at myself, my behaviors, and my desires with an unflinching, meticulous eye. I need to tease apart the careful life I have crafted for myself, the one that is threatening to unravel at any minute.

And I know where I have to begin.

Every villain’s redemption arc begins with their origin story.

Review:

4.9 out of 5

97.50% of customers are satisfied

5.0 out of 5 stars A Life-Affirming Masterpiece on Trauma and Healing

A. · August 26, 2024

This book! This book! This absolute gem of a book!!!In a year where I’ve devoured countless remarkable autobiographies—each one a testament to the human spirit’s resilience, fortitude, and the triumph over unimaginable adversities—none has left me as deeply moved, as utterly transformed, as Stephanie Foo’s "What My Bones Know."Stephanie Foo has created something extraordinary. Yes, her life alone—marked by a childhood so harrowing, it’s almost unbearable to contemplate—could have provided enough material for a powerful, emotional memoir. But this book is so much more than that. It transcends the personal and delves into the universal, becoming a lifeline for anyone who has ever grappled with trauma, with the scars that are etched not just in our minds but in the very marrow of our bones.What makes "What My Bones Know" stand out is Foo's fearless, unflinching willingness to be open and vulnerable, not just about the trauma she endured, but about the messy, non-linear journey to healing. She doesn’t present her story as a neat narrative of overcoming; instead, she invites us into the chaotic, often excruciating process of recovery. She shares not only her victories but also her setbacks, her moments of despair and doubt, making this book a true reflection of the complicated reality of living with trauma.But Foo doesn’t stop at sharing her personal story. She goes further, offering a deeply researched exploration of trauma—its roots, its impacts, and, most importantly, the many paths to coping and healing. She examines the intersections of trauma with issues of racism, sexism, and classism, making her book not just a memoir, but a critical analysis of how societal structures can compound individual suffering. This intersectional approach is both enlightening and empowering, providing readers with a broader understanding of their own struggles and the tools to address them.Moreover, Foo’s commitment to helping others is evident in every page. She shares large portions of her therapy sessions, making this book a resource for those who might not have access to the same level of care. This generosity, this willingness to expose the rawest parts of herself for the benefit of others, is what truly makes this book one of the most important works on healing and trauma that I have ever read.I have recommended "What My Bones Know" to all my friends and acquaintances because it is not just a book—it’s a gift. It’s a companion for those dark nights of the soul, a guide through the tangled woods of trauma, and a beacon of hope that healing, though arduous and painful, is possible. Stephanie Foo has given us a masterpiece, a book that will resonate in your bones long after you’ve turned the last page.If you read only one book this year, let it be this one. "What My Bones Know" is an extraordinary, life-affirming work that has the power to change the way we understand trauma, healing, and the human capacity for resilience. This book is, quite simply, a triumph.

5.0 out of 5 stars Beautifully written story of trauma and healing

A. · June 19, 2023

This is a beautifully written story of trauma, healing, and the power of love. This is a memoir, not a trauma manual or self-help book; the author is clear about that. It is the author’s personal story. She is not a mental health professional. I only mention this because some reviewers have complained about that. That being said, personal stories have always been an important way that humans share experiences, knowledge, and teachings. I have gained so much from reading Stephanie Foo’s story. As a someone pursuing a graduate degree in psychology and as someone with C-PTSD - I found this book so informative regarding trauma, C-PTSD, abuse, generational trauma, and healing. I also found it beautiful, inspiring, and it helped me in so many ways- too many for me to list here. Everyone will have different healing journeys and most will not follow a linear path. Even if the things that helped Stephanie don’t resonate with you, there is still much to gain from reading her story. For me, it was helpful that her experiences were so different from my own because I was less likely to become triggered and was better able to take in the things she was writing about. I still had to stop and take breaks (I normally can read a book this length in less than a day) and I took my time reading it. I highly recommend this book to anyone interested in trauma, C-PTSD, human behavior as well as to anyone who is interested in humans, the human experience, and beautiful storytelling. I will be purchasing additional copies to give to friends and family.P.S. it is also a love story about self-love, romantic love, familial love, and the love found in friendships.

4.0 out of 5 stars Good read about cPTSD but not a good review of therapies

L. · March 26, 2023

I am a therapist specializing in cPTSD. There are many well-written aspects of this book and it is well-researched. However, as a psychotherapist specializing in PTSD and cPTSD, I have a few issues:1. Just because someone has a PhD does not make them a good therapist. It’s not about book smarts or education. It’s about how one can connect to and work with the relational aspects of trauma. These comments about MA vs PhD pissed me off. I am not a PhD, mostly because I have an education background in biochemistry and neuroscience (undergraduate degrees), having worked in biotechnology for 15 years. I don’t need a PhD to have knowledge and skill to address relational trauma.2. I am a certified EMDR therapist, trained in 2001. I have been using EMDR therapy in my practice for over 20 years with consistently effective results in addressing cPTSD. I also have a cohort of excellent somatically-based colleagues who also effectively treat cPTSD, most of us lowly MA or MS-level LPC’s or LCSW’s (not PhD’s). Not all EMDR therapists are created (or trained) equally. Check out Dr. Arielle Schwartz, a friend and exceptionally skilled colleague. Yes, a PhD but that’s not what makes her exceptional. Check out her books and videos.3. I am also trained in IFS. “Mr. Sweater Vest” is not representative of IFS, as presented in this book. At all, sadly. “The Hulk” as presented here is a “part” that served as a protector. Too bad it apparently wasn’t addressed. And no mention of Self energy?There are many poignant aspects of this well-written book. I have compassion and appreciation for the author and her courage to heal. However, I am frustrated by her cynicism and negativity, painting a slanted portrayal of effective approaches to healing cPTSD.

Finally, someone like me.

L. · August 24, 2024

Healing. Hopeful. I purchased the audiobook first, and it resonated with me so deeply, I came back and purchased the paperback for easy reference. The audiobook includes the actual recordings between the author and her therapist. It’s soothing it’s healing. I highly recommend listening to the audio in addition to buying the paperback. Thank you for writing this

Amazing book

C. · March 8, 2024

Stephanie Foo describes perfectly what it's like living with Complex PTSD. For the first time I fell like someone understands what I go through every day. Thank you for sharing your story.

It explains a lot even if it's her story, it's lots of peoples stories and very well told

K.H. · September 14, 2024

A book you won't put down. Very well written and easily read in simple lanhuage. I recommend it to anyone who's suffered from cptsd or childhood trauma.

Great book

N.H. · August 2, 2024

Although C PTSD is a heavy topic I found this book was well written and a good read. It gives a lot of insight into how childhood trauma impacts us as adults and outlines the steps that the author took on her own healing journey.

Read it!

A.C. · May 20, 2024

Amazing book. Relatable for survivors of CPTSD and clinicians.

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What My Bones Know: A Memoir of Healing from Complex Trauma

Name: What My Bones Know: A Memoir of Healing from Complex Trauma
Brand: Ballantine Books
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