DISPATCHES FROM THE COUCH

The author suffered sexual abuse at the hands of Mr. Jay, a next-door neighbor and trusted family friend. The assaults began before the Hettes started kindergarten and continued for years. The psychological fallout from such “capital-T Trauma” was profound—as an adult, the author became a relentless workaholic, precluding genuine intimacy or authentic friendship with others. In fact, the aftermath of her trauma, more than the abuse itself, turned out to be the deepest and most abiding source of her pain, a terrifying insight conveyed by the author with admirable candor and lucidity in this affecting memoir. Years later, after earning a doctorate in neuroscience and becoming assistant dean of a prestigious pre-med program, a colleague’s “dyspeptic rant” and a fellow dean’s mealy mouthed response to it prompted Hettes to reveal to her colleagues that she was the survivor of sexual abuse. Reeling from yet another episode of “revictimization,” the author sought the help of a therapist, Piper Manna, determined to overcome the “mountains of self-revulsion, hatred, and shame” her tormentor had left her with. Hettes’ writing verges on the poetic as she describes the heartbreaking fear that her suffering is permanent: “Perhaps, our pasts are not words on a page, but rather tattoos on our minds and hearts. Thus, we are marked—as abused, as violated, as victimized—with ink that permeates every tissue layer.” The narrative is bolstered by Manna’s fascinating insights into the human psyche and the author’s expert knowledge of the human brain (she fascinatingly details the strain her self-castigation put on her limbic system). While often challenging to read, given the grim nature of the abuse, the memoir includes moments of humor and hope, and it is inspiring to chart Hettes’ journey from despair to a degree in “self-studies.”

May 13, 2025 - 20:32

The author suffered sexual abuse at the hands of Mr. Jay, a next-door neighbor and trusted family friend. The assaults began before the Hettes started kindergarten and continued for years. The psychological fallout from such “capital-T Trauma” was profound—as an adult, the author became a relentless workaholic, precluding genuine intimacy or authentic friendship with others. In fact, the aftermath of her trauma, more than the abuse itself, turned out to be the deepest and most abiding source of her pain, a terrifying insight conveyed by the author with admirable candor and lucidity in this affecting memoir. Years later, after earning a doctorate in neuroscience and becoming assistant dean of a prestigious pre-med program, a colleague’s “dyspeptic rant” and a fellow dean’s mealy mouthed response to it prompted Hettes to reveal to her colleagues that she was the survivor of sexual abuse. Reeling from yet another episode of “revictimization,” the author sought the help of a therapist, Piper Manna, determined to overcome the “mountains of self-revulsion, hatred, and shame” her tormentor had left her with. Hettes’ writing verges on the poetic as she describes the heartbreaking fear that her suffering is permanent: “Perhaps, our pasts are not words on a page, but rather tattoos on our minds and hearts. Thus, we are marked—as abused, as violated, as victimized—with ink that permeates every tissue layer.” The narrative is bolstered by Manna’s fascinating insights into the human psyche and the author’s expert knowledge of the human brain (she fascinatingly details the strain her self-castigation put on her limbic system). While often challenging to read, given the grim nature of the abuse, the memoir includes moments of humor and hope, and it is inspiring to chart Hettes’ journey from despair to a degree in “self-studies.”