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Stephanie Foo, What My Bones Know, Ballantine Books, 2022. 352 pgs.

Addressing trauma is never an easy undertaking—especially when it is the survivor herself who must confront it. Stephanie Foo’s memoir, What My Bones Know, is a beautifully crafted and profoundly sorrowful account of a child abused by her own parents. The tragedy defies language, and Foo’s courage in recounting her story is deeply admirable. Mental health and trauma remain subjects clouded by stigma and an enduring reluctance to share personal narratives. This memoir is not merely a creative endeavour to unburden painful emotions—it also serves as an invaluable resource for those suffering from complex PTSD, many of whom may be unaware of their condition. It is both a journey of healing and an act of raising awareness.

In many Asian cultures, severing ties with immediate or extended family is considered taboo—Foo had to navigate and ultimately overcome this deeply ingrained shame once she recognised the necessity of breaking the cycle of abuse.

Stephanie Foo underscores the importance of distinguishing between PTSD and complex PTSD. The latter is not formally recognised as a diagnosis under certain medical classifications. Yet, without acknowledging it, misdiagnosis is inevitable, thereby obstructing the path to genuine healing. Complex PTSD is commonly found among individuals subjected to prolonged abuse—often within the domestic sphere, as in Foo’s own case. Her life underwent a profound transformation once she came to understand her condition and its far-reaching effects on her adult life.

As mentioned earlier, What My Bones Know is an excellent resource on the subject; however, what truly elevates it beyond a conventional healing narrative is Foo’s strikingly candid and, at times, harrowing storytelling—for no one should ever have to endure what she did.

It is both fascinating and unsettling to consider how trauma becomes embedded in our bodies and how it can influence nearly every aspect of our adult lives. This is precisely where the memoir derives its title—from the latent nature of trauma which, due to its physical invisibility, often goes unnoticed or is gravely misunderstood. Foo consulted numerous therapists in an effort to unravel the complexity of her condition. At times, the sheer number of therapists she had to see felt overwhelming—an experience rarely discussed, yet profoundly important. The time, energy, and emotional labour involved in finding the right therapist is no small task, and it is something that must be acknowledged and prioritised.

The memoir also dismantles many pervasive myths surrounding trauma and the healing process. Even today, trauma is frequently dismissed as mere sadness in many cultures. Speaking from personal experience, it is not uncommon for even medical professionals to offer misguided advice—encouraging reliance on God and prayer rather than referring individuals to qualified therapists. In more extreme cases, trauma is misconstrued as madness or attributed to the evil eye, rendering its acknowledgement not only dismissive but at times dangerously reductive.

Understanding trauma demands profound insight. The first step is to recognise it, to discern its patterns, and to be willing to confront it. What follows is a long and arduous journey—hundreds of incremental steps towards healing, aided by both professional guidance and supportive personal relationships. Perhaps the most painful and difficult act of all is letting go of those who have caused harm, and severing ties entirely. Trauma is as intricate as human emotion itself. Foo articulates this truth with clarity and poignancy in her memoir:

Trauma isn’t just the sadness that comes from being beaten, neglected, or insulted. That’s just one layer of it. Trauma also is mourning the childhood you could have had. The childhood other kids around you had. The fact that you could have had a mom who hugged and kissed you when you skinned your knee. Or a dad who stayed and brought you a bouquet of flowers at your graduation.

Therapy is not magic—it is merely one of the many small steps one takes towards healing. As with most things, not every therapist will be the right fit for every individual. The key lies in persistence and patience. As Foo remarks in her memoir, What My Bones Know, “Being healed isn’t about feeling nothing. Being healed is about feeling the appropriate emotions at the appropriate times and still being able to come back to yourself. That’s just life.”

Shame is perhaps the most persistent emotion among trauma survivors. It robs them of the joys that life might otherwise offer. Even when circumstances improve, there is often a lingering sense of disbelief and a self-sabotaging tendency to undermine happiness. The traumatised brain becomes conditioned to remain hypervigilant, ever anticipating further pain—hence the difficulty in trusting love and forming genuine connections. This, too, sheds light on Foo’s struggles within her marriage and the loving family she entered through it. The effects of trauma inevitably resurface—sometimes more acutely—in motherhood. Becoming the kind of parent one never had is an immense challenge, one that is often invisible and rarely acknowledged.

It was not an easy read, and it is fair to say that it takes immense courage to write something of such raw intimacy. The memoir form allows for a deep exploration of the self—often revealing aspects one might otherwise keep hidden. Shame is perhaps the most corrosive element of abuse and trauma—the insidious belief that we were somehow chosen for such degradation, that we must have done something to deserve it. Once that internal noise begins to quieten, it becomes easier to sever ties with those who have harmed us and to accept past experiences for what they are—chapters in our story, not our ultimate fate.

How to cite: M, Fathima. “The Invisible Pain of Abuse and its Diagnosis: Stephanie Foo’s What My Bones Know.” Cha: An Asian Literary Journal, 16 Jun. 2025, chajournal.blog/2025/06/16/my-bones.

Fathima M teaches English literature in a women’s college in Bangalore, India. She likes hoarding books and visiting empty parks. [Read all contributions by Fathima M.]

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