Tell Me More: Stories About the 12 Hardest Things I'm Learning to Say

Wow, this was a punch to the gut in the best possible way. I started reading this on a plane and had to hide my face because I was sobbing by chapter three. Kelly has this incredible ability to weave humor into the most devastating circumstances. Her tribute to Liz at the end of the book is hands down the best eulogy I have ever read; it captures the essence of female friendship so perfectly. This isn't just a book of essays; it's a guide on how to be a better human being. It’s about the resilience her grandmother taught her—the idea that we are 'good enough' to handle whatever life throws our way. I found it remarkably authentic and easy to read. I'll be gifting this to all my friends this year.

Ever wonder why saying 'no' is so incredibly difficult? Corrigan tackles this and eleven other essential phrases with such refreshing candor that I found myself nodding along to every page. The wisdom she shares doesn't feel like it's coming from a pedestal; it feels like it's earned through the hard work of everyday living. Her stories about her father, Greenie, are especially poignant, reminding us that our lives are built on the small, repetitive moments of love. I loved the irreverence she shows toward her own accomplishments and her honesty about the frustrations of marriage and motherhood. This is a book for anyone who is currently in the thick of it—raising kids, caring for aging parents, and trying to find some meaning in the chaos. It’s heartfelt, funny, and deeply wise.

Truth is, I’ve never read a book that captured the messiness of middle age quite like this. Kelly Corrigan has a gift for making the specific feel universal. Whether she's talking about the 'profoundly ordinary' sound of a kid singing in the shower or the terrifying mystery of a terminal diagnosis, she does it with a keen wit and a huge heart. I found the chapter on 'I Don't Know' to be incredibly liberating. We spend so much time pretending we have the answers, but there is such peace in admitting we don't. This book made me laugh out loud and then immediately start crying. It’s a beautiful exploration of the 12 hardest things we have to learn to say, and I think everyone could benefit from reading it. Truly a masterpiece of memoir.

After hearing so much buzz, I expected a light beach read, but what I got was a profound lesson in empathy. Kelly’s writing is beautifully conversational, yet it carries a weight that stays with you long after you close the cover. Her ability to admit fault—stating that 'maybe being wrong is not the same as being bad'—is something we all need to hear more often. The anecdotes about her family are told with such affection and honesty that you feel like you know them. I especially appreciated the sections on her mother’s 'super power' of saying no without explaining herself. It’s a remarkable piece of work that balances the thrill and disappearance of life with grace. If you've ever felt overwhelmed by the world, this book will make you feel seen and understood.

Directly addressing the void left by her father and best friend, Corrigan manages to find light in the darkest corners. I listened to the audiobook, which she narrates herself, and I highly recommend that experience—it’s like she’s speaking directly to your heart. Her insights into the 'slide into smallness' and the irritability that comes with grief were so spot-on it was almost scary. The book is bursting with heartfelt wisdom about forgiveness, acceptance, and the importance of just being there for someone who hurts. It’s a testament to the fact that even when life is fraught with uncertainty, we are lucky to be here for it. This is easily one of the most authentic and relatable books I’ve read in years. Five stars aren't enough for the comfort this book provided me.

As someone who has followed Kelly’s journey since her first memoir, I found this latest installment to be a deeply moving, if occasionally repetitive, addition to her body of work. She has a singular talent for capturing the 'four by forty' family dynamic and the shifting sands of middle-aged parenthood. The chapters are organized around phrases like 'I don’t know' and 'No,' which provides a helpful structure to her anecdotal style. I did feel that some of the material leaned a bit too heavily into the self-help genre, which isn't always my cup of tea. However, her vulnerability regarding the death of her friend Liz is so raw and authentic that it’s impossible not to be moved. It’s a beautiful, quick read that reminds us that being 'good enough' is actually quite an achievement.

Picked this up on a whim after seeing the high ratings, and I was pleasantly surprised by how much it resonated. Corrigan writes with a conversational tone that makes you feel like you’re sharing a bottle of wine with an old friend. Not every essay hit the mark—some felt a bit like fillers—but the core message about listening and empathy is powerful. The concept of saying 'Tell me more' to diffuse tension is a practical takeaway I’ve already started using with my own kids. It's not a revolutionary book, but it is a very human one. She balances the humor of domestic life with the crushing weight of grief in a way that feels incredibly relatable. It’s a solid 4-star read for anyone looking for a bit of heart and humor.

Finally sat down with this and I have thoughts. Corrigan is a master storyteller when it comes to the small, gritty details of life—the things we usually overlook. Her reflections on her mother being a 'No Pro' were particularly enlightening and made me rethink my own inability to set boundaries. While the book is definitely heavy—dealing with two major deaths back-to-back—she leavens the sadness with a sharp, self-deprecating wit. There were moments of 'white lady problems' that felt a bit dated, but her sincerity usually wins out. The way she describes the 'disorienting grief' of losing a parent is something I haven't seen articulated this well in a long time. It’s a thoughtful meditation on what we say and, more importantly, what we don’t say to the people we love most.

Frankly, I found the self-help structure a bit forced at times. I’ve always appreciated Kelly's writing style, but this collection felt like it was trying too hard to turn personal tragedies into neat little life lessons. The grief over her father and her friend Liz is palpable, and those were the moments where the book truly shined. But then it would pivot to something like the dog eating out of the toilet to explain responsibility, and I’d lose the thread. It felt self-indulgent in parts, like she was using the pages to clear her own conscience rather than to truly inspire the reader. It’s a decent enough book, and she is certainly a talented writer, but it just didn’t connect with me as deeply as 'The Middle Place' did. It felt much longer than its actual page count.

The chapter on the dog eating out of the toilet was the absolute final straw for me. I simply cannot fathom why this is a bestseller. It reads like the disorganized ramblings of an over-privileged woman who thinks her minor domestic inconveniences are universal gospel. While she attempts to touch on heavy themes like cancer and the loss of her father, Greenie, the execution feels entirely self-absorbed. There is a glaring lack of awareness regarding her own status, and the 'wisdom' provided is often trite or downright gross—like the aforementioned dog situation. If you enjoy being cornered at a party by someone who won’t stop talking about themselves and their poorly trained pets, this is for you. Otherwise, save your time and money. It's white mediocrity wrapped in a glossy cover.