Awake

In Part 2, Hatmaker describes transitioning from shock and disorientation into the challenging work of recovery. These chapters chart her shift from the fragmentation of identity toward the rebuilding of autonomy. Hatmaker made practical progress, taking control of her finances and replacing the car her husband had chosen for her. The author highlights how the car represented an affirmation of her identity: “We were born a year apart, two sisters who’ve seen a lot of life” (97). In addition, she describes how she developed rituals of self-mothering, allowing herself to benefit from the caretaking skills she formerly reserved for her husband and children. The routines of “Morning Jen” and “Night Jen,” such as lighting a candle, setting a coffee timer, and making the bed, illustrate the author’s recognition that recovery is the result of many small steps, rather than the work of a single transformative moment.

Throughout these chapters, Hatmaker portrays female friendship as a vital source of support in her life’s reconstruction. Women’s collective care of one another is evident through the smudging of Jen’s house, the gift of a grandmother’s hanky anointed with prayers and peppermint oil, and the construction of a porch swing as a gift. Her friends’ instinctive anticipation of Hatmaker’s needs contrasted with the patriarchal institutions that had failed her. In addition, this expression of women’s solidarity signaled Hatmaker’s movement from codependency toward interdependence. Whereas she once derived validation from managing her husband’s moods or her church’s approval, she now learned to receive care freely.

Hatmaker introduces intertextuality into the memoir through her engagement with the work of Brené Brown and with Melody Beattie’s Codependent No More. The title of Chapter 33, “Damn Melody (and Brené),” highlights how these authors’ emphasis on courage and self-responsibility felt uncomfortable in the early days of Hatmaker’s recovery. The author’s assertion that she would have preferred to “lay this whole implosion at the feet of my partner and walk away clean” (105) conveys the temptation of avoiding self-examination when relationships break down. Beattie’s book, in particular, was a catalyst for self-reckoning, prompting the author to accept that she “wasn’t just an innocent bystander” (109). Hatmaker’s realization that her marriage was one of codependency in which she attempted to control her husband’s behavior forced a recognition of her own role in their deteriorating relationship. A growing ability to see the marriage from both sides allowed the author to identify that Brandon was also experiencing the negative effects of social conditioning, thematically reflecting The Systemic Shaping of Identity. Hatmaker’s assertion that “[p]atriarchy is a villain, and I grieve what it stole from both of us” (122) highlights how the patriarchal structures of the Church forced both of them into roles for which they were ill-equipped.

The memoir incorporates the motif of music in this section by including chapters that consist solely of song lyrics. In Part 1, Hatmaker’s inclusion of lyrics by Miranda Lambert and Ingrid Andress echoes her focus on heartbreak, while in Part 2, the song choices strike a more hopeful note. Shania Twain’s “Man! I Feel Like a Woman” echoes the author’s sense of empowerment after buying the 1975 Bronco. Similarly, in U2’s “Beautiful Day,” the image of a heart blooming in “the stony ground” (132) suggests life reemerging from devastation. These song lyrics echo the content of the chapters surrounding them, conveying Hatmaker’s slow and naturally unpredictable trajectory from devastation to autonomy.