This book really hit me. Berkowitz was able to find words for all the things I can't say, all the things that physically hurt my hands to type out (yay pain!). It made me wonder what this looming pain in my hands really is, and why I haven't tried to get a real diagnosis yet. Do I not believe myself or do I fear that my doctors won't like so many times before?

“Despite these interventions, I can’t physically tolerate the work. By my fourth week, my wrist feels tight and numb as it hovers above the ten-key. I try wearing a brace, but it doesn’t help. I tell my supervisor, and within the hour, I get a call from the temp agency informing me that the assignment is over. That night, I can’t stop crying. I’m angry at my body, I’m angry at the temp agency, I’m angry at the man I blame for this pain. And I’m overwhelmed thinking: How the fuck am I ever going to support myself. And my boyfriend says, “Well, don’t wallow in it. That’s not going to help. Just pick yourself up and get back out there.” These are the words of a little league coach but I am not a little league team. I am a grown person with a disability.”

This passage is something that I've felt so many times before, but like she understands, couldn't write down without hurting myself more. ( )

I liked this a whole lot better than, say, Rupi Kaur’s Milk & Honey. Even though I can more personally relate to Tender Points, and that would make me think I could be more triggered by it, I was triggered way less. I’m not sure this is a lateral comparison, but they both feel visceral. I feel much more with Tender Points the validation of shared pain, the frustration, the topics related to sexual violence in a way that in the end was helpful and constructive in my own healing. ( )