What My Bones Know by Stephanie Foo

I recently finished reading What My Bones Know by Stephanie Foo and it is one of the most honest and insightful books I've read on Complex PTSD.

Like many people who have experienced significant trauma, I spent years focusing on the ways trauma had impacted my life: the anxiety, perfectionism, hypervigilance, emotional exhaustion, and eventually burnout. The question was always, "How do I fix what's wrong?"

What Stephanie's book reminded me of is something I've been reflecting on more and more in my own recovery journey: trauma doesn't just shape our struggles. It shapes our strengths too.

Many of the qualities that helped me succeed throughout my life were also adaptations to adversity.

- The ability to stay calm during crises.
- The drive to achieve.
- The capacity to push through discomfort.
- The determination to keep going when others might give up.
- The ability to read a room quickly and anticipate risks.

As someone who has worked in high-pressure environments around the world, these traits served me well for a long time.

But eventually I learned that the same traits that can help us survive can also come at a cost.

Hypervigilance can look like leadership until it becomes exhaustion.

Perfectionism can look like excellence until it becomes self-criticism.

Self-reliance can look like strength until it becomes isolation.

One of the greatest lessons of recovery has been learning that healing is not about rejecting the person trauma shaped. It is about understanding that person with compassion.

I would not choose many of the experiences that happened to me. But I also cannot separate those experiences from the resilience, empathy, courage, and purpose they helped create.

The goal is not to erase the past.

The goal is to keep the strengths and heal the wounds.

For anyone living with Complex PTSD, trauma, addiction, burnout, or the long-term effects of chronic stress, I highly recommend What My Bones Know. It is a powerful reminder that healing is possible, and that our stories are often more complex—and more hopeful—than we realize.