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

But the sadness of a lost childhood feels like yearning, impossible desire. It feels like a hollow, insatiable hunger.

I want to have words for what my bones know. I want to use this gifts when they serve me and understand and forgive them when they do not.

The legends tell us to address the ghost directly. Declare that this is our home and it isn’t welcome here anymore. But I’m the only one yelling, screaming at spirits in the living room while everyone else averts their eyes, pretending there’s nothing wrong.