This book handled heavy topics, but gave me hope. It reads a little like a diary of someone who is depressed and suffering from ptsd, sorting through the experiences of family and immigration trauma, being bullied, having an eating disorder, and being repeatedly abused. Sung Yim has written a brutally honest memoir, exposing themself with a vulnerability that may seem misguided to some, but courageous to others. They weave in therapy sessions with memories of abuse, chronological ordering of events with spurts of emotion or definitions that don’t at first seem entirely relevant. The style is similar to Her Body and Other Parties, but more cohesive. I felt more connected to this book and the author’s experience. I liked this author, a lot, though they did made their faults very clear. The book almost reads as a love letter to the author’s husband, Bryan, who is shown accepting Sung patiently, immediately and repeatedly, even when Sung breaks a precious ceramic bowl in a trauma- induced fit. The author seems to ask in this book, am I worth loving? And though they do not have a clear answer, they have written a reminder of all the companionship and love they have had and still have: the traditional Korean dishes cooked by their Mother, their Father’s aid, the stoner friend, the friend who stays until Bryan gets home, and of course, the husband who rides out the tantrums and the bed bugs alike. This is a special story of trauma, weakness, anguish, abandonment, strength, and love. All of these things are woven together in a way that rings of truth. There is no clarity to be found; only the will to continue, and with it the possibility of being willfully loved.