In this shocking memoir, Hake, a psychotherapist, recounts decades of abuse and neglect, as well as the resilience that allowed her to push on and help others. Working with Woo-ri, a client who endures recurring nightmares that echo Hake’s own, stirs uncomfortable questions for Hake about facing her own past: “What did I need to learn about myself? Could either of us hope for a better future?” From early childhood in South Korea, Hake endured being neglected and unwanted, the younger child who could never live up to the shine on her favored, seemingly sociopathic brother. Hake’s self-important father was a prominent social worker who neglected his own children and seemingly ignored evidence of abuse in his own home, presumably because to acknowledge it would be to lose face. Her mother, meanwhile, seemingly devoted her life to making Hake miserable, sabotaging her first serious relationship and helping to cover up the brother’s constant, violent abuse.

Hake found escape in moving to the United States and embarking a professional career where she could do good, though as an adult, too, she survived unfulfilling and abusive relationships before finally deciding that she’s destined to be romantically alone so that she can better minister to those who are “lonely and broken.” Daughter of Korean Freud finds her facing, with clear eyes and unflinching prose, her own past, demonstrating the possibility of finding a path toward healing and purpose. The book is often harrowing, careening from vivid depictions of physical, sexual, and psychological abuse to powerful accounts of trauma and depression.

A few moments of warmth and connection lighten the darkness, primarily when Hake talks about her golden retrievers and, near the end of the book, the friends she makes in her neighborhood. Most touching, though, is her discovery of meaning in an existence that so often has been painful: the conviction that “I can weave in and out of people’s lives when they most need love.” This book and the example it sets are a potent part of that weaving, though readers sensitive to raw portrayals of abuse and trauma will find many passages a challenge to read.

Takeaway: Harrowing account of abuse, healing, and a life dedicated to helping others heal, too.

Comparable Titles: Catherine Gildiner’s Good Morning, Monster, Michele Harper’s The Beauty in Breaking.

Production grades
Cover: A-
Design and typography: A
Illustrations: N/A
Editing: A
Marketing copy: A