What My Bones Know: Trauma and the Body

Have you ever felt like your body was carrying something your words couldn't quite explain? That's exactly what Stephanie Foo captures in her memoir, What My Bones Know — and honestly, it's one of those books that stays with you long after you've turned the last page.

Foo grew up in the kind of childhood no child should have to navigate, marked by neglect, abuse, and instability. As an adult, she finds herself piecing together why she feels the way she feels, why she reacts the way she reacts, and why her body seems to hold onto pain that her mind can't always make sense of. Sound familiar? For many of my clients, it does.

Her diagnosis of Complex PTSD (CPTSD) becomes both an answer and a doorway. It’s finally a name for something that had been quietly shaping her life for years.

Your Body Is Listening, Even When You're Not

One of the things I love most about this book is how Foo puts into words something that so many people struggle to articulate, that trauma doesn't just live in our memories. It lives in our bodies.

"The PTSD had always told me I am alone. That I am unlovable. That I am toxic. But now, it is clear to me: That was a lie. My PTSD clouded my vision of what was actually happening." — Stephanie Foo

If you've ever experienced chronic pain, persistent fatigue, or a body that seems to be constantly on high alert, Foo's story might feel like someone finally put your experience into words. This is especially meaningful for people navigating conditions like endometriosis, where the boundary between physical and emotional pain can feel blurry and overwhelming. While endometriosis is absolutely a biological condition, research continues to show us that trauma histories can heighten our sensitivity to pain and that healing often asks us to tend to both the body and the heart.

A Real-Life Bridge Between the Clinical and the Personal

Like Bruce Perry's What Happened to You? or Gabor Maté's When the Body Says No, Foo’s book shows how powerful it is to finally have language for what you've been experiencing. Foo's memoir sits beautifully alongside these, not as a clinical guide, but as a warm, deeply human companion to them.

Where Perry and Maté hand you the map, Foo shows you what it actually feels like to walk the terrain.

Her writing is sharp, funny at times, heartbreaking at others and always, always honest. She doesn't dress up her struggle to make it more palatable. She lets you sit with her in the mess of it, which somehow makes the moments of healing feel all the more real.

For the Overachievers, the People-Pleasers, the "I'm Fine" Crowd

There's a particular thread in this book that I think will resonate deeply with a lot of people — the way trauma and high achievement so often go hand in hand. Foo is a talented, successful journalist. From the outside, she had it together. On the inside, she was running on empty, driven by a deep, unspoken fear that she wasn't enough.

If you've ever found yourself measuring your worth by your productivity, or pushing yourself harder just to feel okay, Foo's journey might feel like a gentle hand on your shoulder.

Her path toward healing, through therapy, community, creativity, and a whole lot of self-compassion, is a quiet but powerful reminder that you don't have to earn your worthiness. It was never something you lost.

So, Where Does This Leave Us?

Healing isn't a straight line. But What My Bones Know is the kind of book that makes you feel a little less alone on that winding path, a little more hopeful that the body can begin to release what it's been holding, and that a fuller, more peaceful version of yourself is genuinely within reach.

Whether you're just beginning to explore your relationship with trauma, or you're well into your healing journey, Stephanie Foo's memoir is a beautiful, courageous read. I'd wholeheartedly recommend it.

Feeling like some of this resonates with your own experience? You don't have to figure it out alone.Schedule a consultation — I'd love to talk.