OPRAH’S BOOK CLUB PICK An astonishing memoir that explores how far we will go to protect ourselves, and the healing made possible when we face our secrets and begin to share our stories.
“A beautiful account of the journey of courage it takes to face the truth of one’s past.”—Bessel van der Kolk, #1 New York Times bestselling author of The Body Keeps the Score
For decades, Amy ran. Through the dirt roads of Amarillo, Texas, where she grew up; to the campus of the University of Virginia, as a student athlete; on the streets of New York, where she built her adult life; through marriage, motherhood, and a thriving career. To outsiders, it all looked, in many ways, perfect. But Amy was running from something—a secret she was keeping not only from her family and friends, but unconsciously from herself. “You’re here, but you’re not here,” her daughter said to her one night. “Where are you, Mom?” So began Amy’s quest to solve a mystery trapped in the deep recesses of her own memory—a journey that would take her into the burgeoning field of psychedelic therapy, to the limits of the judicial system, and ultimately, home to the Texas panhandle, where her story began.
In her search for the truth, to understand and begin to recover from buried childhood trauma, Griffin interrogates the pursuit of perfectionism, control, and maintaining appearances that drives so many women, asking, when, in our path from girlhood to womanhood, did we learn to look outside ourselves for validation? What kind of freedom is possible if we accept the whole story and embrace who we really are? With hope, heart, and relentless honesty, she points a way forward for all of us, revealing the power of radical truth-telling to deepen our connections—with others and ourselves.
I'm gonna go three stars I guess. I have some problems with this book largely on how it was presented at a book talk and Q&A with the author I attended, where a bunch of rich white women self-congratulated on being the most important people ever to talk about sexual abuse and how this book will change everyone's lives because the message is about how sharing about abuse is important, as if no one has ever come forward and spoken up about abuse before for this very reason? It was one of the worst displays of self-obsessed privilege I've ever seen and so fucking cringe, especially when after reading the book I found that the author isn't really at all an advocate for survivors in any tangible way? Even the epilogue is like "if you're a survivor and need resources there's some links on my website idk" like could not even be bothered to include any links or organizations or messages of support to survivors in this super triggering book that features graphic descriptions of childhood sexual abuse.
The premise is that the author realizes she was abused as a child after an MDMA-assisted therapy session, so she decides to work on coming to terms with everything she has to go through and process decades later by telling the people in her life. What a horrendous thing to endure and how difficult it must have been to go through recovery from this kind of trauma! Learning about the abuse she had repressed and how she dealt with it at the time also informs the author about so many of her behaviors and personality traits, all of which were formed as kind of subconscious defense mechanisms. These discoveries are fascinating, and how she comes to terms with these traits – and even tries to change many of them in some ways – is powerful.
My feelings about this book are not about her experiences or her story, but more about how kind of insensitive it is to proclaim yourself a martyr for all survivors when really I do not understand where that sense of entitlement is coming from. Literally millions of women have been abused or violated in a similar way and have talked about it for eons. I think it was especially hard to understand having recently read Amanda Nguyen's and Chanel Miller's books, where they – both non-white, non-privileged women – give up careers to fight for justice not only for themselves but as a way to ensure other survivors wouldn't have to suffer in the same way. I'm not saying every survivor needs to do what they did to be heroic, simply getting out of bed and facing each day is fucking heroic for survivors! But this book promoting itself as the most important voice ever in survivorship feels super tone deaf when there are many other experts on this topic who discuss abuse and the aftermath more tactfully, meaningfully, and knowledgeably than this private equity exec who was able to write a book because she's rich and connected, not because she has any qualifications or expertise to responsibly help people. Even her path to getting justice for herself – hiring a corporate lawyer in New York and having them bully her small Texas town's police force into making her decades-old case that has no physical evidence and therefore a very small chance of making it past the investigative stage a priority – is out-of-touch with how 99.9% of the population is equipped to deal with similar situations.
This is her story, so obviously she deserves to share it and obviously her wealth and privilege does not cosmically balance out the trauma she endured. But had this book simply existed SOLELY as a memoir without all of the surrounding pretentious nonsense about how she is single-handedly saving the world, I would've valued it more for what it is – a well-written, introspective, and devastating story about all the ways we suffer from abuse, especially in terms of complicated childhood abuse where memories are unclear or buried entirely, with these cases very rarely tied up with neat little bows in the end. Instead, the insane behavior at the book event and other things the author has said just completely rubbed me the wrong way and unfortunately it affected how I read her story. Is IS an important story to tell and I'm sure it will help survivors come forward and want to talk about their own abuse but it's not groundbreaking or trailblazing in the way it's being heralded, almost entirely by the author herself.
One last thought more about the writing – while I think most of this is really well-written, many of the dialogues read like this woman has never had a conversation with other people before, especially when she speaks with her 11-year-old daughter, who is depicted as a wise old soul who often acts as a therapist and the pillar of emotional support for her mother as she goes through this experience. That's fine, I'm sure it's grounded in truth, but their convos in this book are preposterous, complete with psychobabble lingo and the kind of sage advice a child simply is not equipped to give. It's giving this meme or a Delaney Rowe "precocious child" TikTok and I couldn't stop rolling my eyes.
I believe women. My issue with this story isn’t her memory or abuse. My issue is that she’s insufferable. She spent so much time telling us how perfect she was, how perfect her body was, perfect hair, perfect at sports and business. Then we had to hear whole chapters about how nice she was to loan someone a dress, and why did that matter, I can’t believe I’m so nice?!?! Blah blah blah. My therapist tells me not to tell anyone until I process it, so I’ll spend chapters telling how I told everyone against advice of professionals. I just couldn’t stand her. This is my second Oprah’s book club book that was absolutely awful. It’s overhyped and dangerous.
The Tell is about Amy Griffin who has a repressed childhood memory. For her entire life, she has been chasing perfection and constantly running, keeping busy. After a comment by her daughter, she decides that she is going to undergo MDMA therapy after her husband raved about his incredible experience. During her trip, she uncovers trauma, and this book documents her journey through healing and processing.
While I did read The Body Keeps the Score and learned that MDMA can be beneficial in a therapeutic session, “two months later 83 percent of the patients who received MDMA plus psychotherapy were considered completely cured, compared with 25 percent of the placebo group,” I also read Project Mind Control where I read that a CIA operative surreptitiously administered a psychedelic drug to a group of scientists at Deep Creek.
Most of the participants had a wonderful experience, boisterous, laughing, enjoying a sense of camaraderie. However, for one man, Frank Olson, this would spell the beginning of the end of his life. He quickly developed extreme paranoia—he was convinced people were after him and that he was incompetent at his job. Upon hearing of the adverse side effects, The CIA whisked him off to New York City to meet with a psychiatrist. This was too little for Frank Olson who ended up jumping out of the window in a New York skyscraper, falling to his death.
So when the author talks in such a bubbly manner about how MDMA is perfectly safe, this gives me pause.
Not to diminish Amy’s trauma, but there are some books in the trauma memoir genre that are more compelling such as The Glass Castle and Saving Five.
Further, the prose is less than desirable. In the first paragraph, “The sound of the cicadas chirping in the summertime.” That is a complete sentence or what is trying to pass as one. For whatever reason, this incomplete sentence structure just gives me the shivers (and not in a good way). It doesn’t come off naturally, and it doesn’t ring with authenticity.
The Green Light at the End of the Dock (How much I spent): Hardcover Text – $25.44 from Amazon Audiobook – Free through Libby
The Tell touches on so many important topics and is one of the better non-fiction books I’ve read recently. We follow Amy as she bravely tells how repressed memories can affect our everyday lives as well as her journey through healing.
The Tell discusses how harmful the conservative southern culture can be and the pressure this culture puts on women to always be perfect. The story also delves into the criminal justice system and how difficult it is for assault survivors to obtain justice.
Following Amy from her idyllic Texas childhood to becoming a strong survivor is something that I won't be forgetting anytime soon. I’ve long been interested in the healing powers of psychedelics and I loved learning more about how they are used to treat and heal trauma while reading this one.
I listened to the audiobook version of The Tell which is narrated by the author. If you decide to pick this one up, I highly recommend this format.
The Tell by Amy Griffin was published on March 11 so it’s available now. Many thanks to Penguin Random House Audio for the gifted audiobook!
I struggled with this book. Maybe because The Glass Castle, another memoir, is one of my all time favorites, but I found myself skimming some pages on this one. It just didn’t capture my attention or compel me in the way I expected given all the hype around it.
There is no mention in the audio book of Mr Mason's name being a pseudonym. It is weird that's left out. It is also weird that we are protecting his privacy if this happened. I feel like many other people who mentioned there is no closure or call to action in this book. I have so many questions. Her press tours and interviews are confusing. We have a billionaire who can't turn over every stone and help stand up for victims? Would have loved more information on MDMA and the false or semi false memories that can be triggered. I agree with many others that there could be a follow up book that is put together better. I heard rave reviews about This book and it's ALLLLL over every talk show and I'm just not sure it is going to have the intended positive effect for survivors of SA.
This book was so well-written and such a page turner. I really wish her story had been corroborated by other people, though, who had seen something or who had also been abused by the same person. Unfortunately, the only proof she had, outside of her own reflections, was sent anonymously. I don’t believe an abuser of this magnitude only abuses once, so if no one else comes forward after the release of this book, it will remind me of another of Oprah’s bookclub picks, James Frey’s “A Million Little Pieces” which was also a well-written book with important themes - that turned out to be false. There won’t be any way to disprove Ms. Griffin’s story, but a cursory Google search shows that MDMA can bring out false memories. I so loved this book until the end when I realized I would just have to trust the storyteller - something I can’t do. I hope further proof will come out.
In The Tell, Griffin lets readers in to her very personal experience of recognizing and living through the trauma and grief of her childhood sexual abuse at the hands of a trusted person. Feeling exhausted, run-down, constantly empty and on guard, though not sure why, adult Griffin partakes in psychedelic-assisted therapy where repressed memories—long forgotten and sealed off—resurface. This deeply emotional memoir details her abuse and her process to justice and healing.
Written with grace, vulnerability, and sincerity, The Tell is a book for women everywhere.
Thank you Random House for the early copy in exchange for an honest review. Available Mar. 11 2025
I'm not sure what all the hype and accolades are about with Amy Griffin's "The Tell." After I hit around the 30% mark, it was a race to the finish. I was disappointed in so much about this book, but, mostly, the narrator came off as completely self-absorbed, focusing on her "perfect" life, judging those around her while trying to deal with her past trauma. Needless to say, I am very sorry for what Amy Griffin had to deal with as an adolescent and her quest for justice. But that did not excuse the constant dropping of buzz words, her massive and wrung-out introspection, and lack of nuance in the book. A disappointing 2 stars.
As much as it pains me to say this, The Tell reads like an over-glorified work of fiction rather than a credible memoir. While the subject matter is serious, and should always be approached with care and respect, I found too many contradictions and convenient narrative choices to fully trust the author’s story.
Griffin repeatedly implies that many people who were sexually abused as children simply don’t remember it. That framing conveniently supports her own account, but risks deeply unsettling those of us who do remember, vividly and unforgettably. It diminishes the lifelong reality of people who live with the kind of trauma that doesn’t fade or hide.
Throughout the book, Griffin vacillates between portraying herself as passive and submissive to her abuser, and men in general, and as someone violently overpowered, chased around desks, shoved to the ground, bound and assaulted. But these depictions contradict each other. If she truly submitted without resistance, why the physical violence? If she was so easily controlled, why the force?
The inconsistencies continue. Was she a “small-town girl” from a place where everyone knew everyone’s business—or from a city of over 150,000 people? Was she driven to seek justice and protect others from harm, or did she give up at the first legal hurdle, never pursuing even a civil suit and failing to even look for her alleged abuser?
These questions matter, not because survivors need to be perfect or linear in their healing or memory, but because truth matters, especially when telling stories that carry this kind of weight.
This is a tricky subject. Women often aren’t believed when they come forward about sexual assault, and it’s vital that we protect space for those voices. But when a story feels fabricated or shaped under the haze of suggestion, therapy, or psychedelics, it can do real harm, undermining the credibility of all those who’ve lived through real assault. That’s not just frustrating; it’s dangerous.
I wish this book had felt more honest. I wish it had honored the messy, painful, nonlinear truth that so many of us carry. Instead, it felt too much like fiction dressed in trauma. I hate having to give a book about sexual assault such a bad review.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
I’m not going to rate this one because I can’t figure out whether there’s a right way to assign stars to a memoir that recounts a troubling personal story, something terrible that happened to the author as a child 30 years earlier, by a person I don’t much care for as an adult. In her early 40s, Amy Griffin, highly successful in seemingly all aspects of her life, tries a new form of therapy and uncovers deeply hidden memories of her abuse by a trusted teacher in middle school. I feel for the suffering 12-year-old girl she was. But her account of the two years after her memories resurfaced spent trying to come to terms with this new knowledge and the light it shed on her driven perfectionism in the decades since the abuse left me feeling a little—what?—creeped-out by her profound narcissism, of which she seems entirely unaware. And did I mention shallow? And the book was so repetitive. It felt like there was a lot of padding to turn this into something book-length. Hmmmm… I’m being very uncharitable about this account of someone’s trauma, aren’t I? And yet I am aware of my shortcomings, I think. Ms. Griffin could use a smidge of that. Just sayin’.
One of the worst memories I’ve ever read which was disappointing considering Oprahs massive endorsement and all of Hollywood. I’d love to peek behind the scenes into that business deal…
Anyhow, something seems fishy about this story and the events that occurred while hallucinating on X which was led by a coach (not therapist).
How one could go their whole life not remembering 4 years of SA through the age of 16, not telling your close family, no one saw it when it kept happening on school grounds behind the bleachers and suddenly as a middle aged woman it all comes flooding back after you take drugs?
This smells like James Frye and I cannot believe Oprah all people would endorse a memoire that can’t and won’t ever be fact checked.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
A brave and necessary memoir that will help so many. Listen to your body. What is it telling you? Even if your experience is different than Amy's, so much of it is relatable, including perfectionism and always being busy.
Thank you, Amy Griffin, for sharing your story. ❤️ CW: sexual assault
This book is heavy. One of the heaviest audiobooks I’ve ever listened to, narrated by the author herself. It will make you uncomfortable. I had to take breaks from listening as the content was extremely upsetting and disturbing. It will surprise and shock you.
I am thankful to the author for being brave and sharing her story. I am confident that this will be inspiring and helpful for many others who may be in a similar situation as the author.
⚠️ Heavy trigger warnings - please check those before reading!
Audio rating: 5 stars! I highly recommend the audio version. The author did an incredible job telling her story which must have been so difficult but I imagine (hope) therapeutic.
I wanted to give a 3 but as her husband said “longs no’s and short yes’s. If you have to think about it, it’s a no” and a 3 I had to think about.
Of course, I admire the bravery in coming out with the story. My review lies in the book as a piece of literature: - way to long of a read - objectives or stories of “why I did this” popped up then went away, making the story feel somewhat loose/disorganized - I don’t really know what I learned from reading it: I couldn’t tell what I was supposed to be getting from it? Even as a memoir, it felt flat.
For years, Griffin ran: she ran through rain and snow and dodgy parts of town, through injury and illness and uncertainty. What she didn't stop to ask herself was what she was running from. But you can't outrun your past forever, and eventually, Griffin knew it was time to face her past—and to figure out just what memories were hovering just out of reach.
How did I know that this was what I needed to do? Even now, I don't really understand it. I just knew that I had built up walls, and I did not know how to tear them down. I knew that I was tired of running. And I knew that I could not hide in the vastness of the life I had built any longer—a life so big that I'd disappeared in it. (loc. 994*)
Griffin's story ends up being an intersection of trauma, recovery, and the parts in between: psychedelic-assisted therapy, belated understanding of her own actions and reactions throughout earlier years of her life, the limitations of the justice system, and the damage done by a Texan purity culture that—implicitly and explicitly—encouraged girls to stay silent when what they experienced wasn't painless, wasn't pretty.
This is clearly the product of years of work—first to put the pieces together for herself, then to share those pieces with the people around her and figure out what came next, and finally to turn this into a cohesive story. It's tightly told, and the psychedelic portion of the story is unusual; I appreciated the conversations with various experts worked into the memoir (probably included to forestall skepticism, but as someone who is more ignorant than skeptical, I found it useful too), but mostly I was just in it for the journey.
Sometimes, when I told people, they praised me for doing "the work," because, they said, it made me a better example to my children, a better wife to my husband, or a better friend to those closest to me. Women are always doing things so we can be better for other people. My relationships had changed for the better, but I didn't do it for anyone else. I did it for me. (loc. 3079)
Worth mentioning that the content warnings for sexual assault at the beginning of the book are warranted; I think the book is well worth reading, but know yourself and your limits.
Thanks to the author and publisher for providing a review copy through NetGalley.
I received a free digital ARC in exchange for an honest review.
While interesting, there were several things about Griffin's memoir that didn't entirely work for me. For one, I found it strange that the book synopsis carefully avoids the type of "secret" that Griffin kept when there is a pretty clear trigger warning before you begin the book. (That said, stop reading if you don't want a spoiler and manage to avoid the trigger warnings...) The first section follows Griffin's early childhood in a conservative Texas family but doesn't delve into the "secret," though I found myself wondering if it would be addressed, as her early life is shared in an otherwise consecutive fashion. In middle school, she takes up running and much of the book overuses this metaphor of literally running from her issues.
As an adult, in the second section of the memoir, Griffin becomes familiar with MDMA therapy after her husband uses it in therapy. Better known as ecstasy in its "street" form and similar to psychedelics, Griffin decides it may be her best bet at accessing a dark area of her life that she is aware exists though cannot identify - the event she has dissociated from and been "running from." Oddly, she begins recalling horrifying sexual abuse before the drug even kicks in, and thus begin many years of trying to grieve her childhood abuse, integrate her new memories into her life, and begin a long journey of healing. While the type of abuse is clear and anyone can imagine being terrified at facing such a memory (especially after "hiding" from it for decades,) it isn't always clear what emotions Griffin is experiencing. This point was especially obvious to me when she references previous depression towards the end of the book, as it had not been clear to me when she was in the throes of it. She explores her sessions with MDMA as well as her more traditional therapy, her process of attempting to share her experiences with friends and family, and her attempts to find legal justice. I found some aspects of her story repetitive and others vague, but I'm sure many readers will find inspiration in Griffin's story of overcoming severe trauma.
I wish I could have stuck with this but I’m so uncomfortable by how much is riding on “repressed memories” which is a concept unsupported by research. If someone uses mdma, and has an experience that feels real but is only a terrible intrusive thought, an innocent person’s life could be ruined, not to mention that of all the families involved.
Hmmm…When Oprah puts her name on a book, I tend to be leery. Remember the controversy over James Frey’s A Million Little Pieces?
Despite my reservations, I still decided to listen to the audiobook which is read by the author.
The Tell is a memoir in which Amy Griffin details her struggle with lifelong perfectionism and wondering why she feels the overwhelming need to please people. When her teenage daughter struggles to connect with her, she realizes that she needs to figure out what she might have forgotten about her past that led her to become a people pleaser. To remember repressed memories, she undergoes controversial therapy using MDMA, a psychedelic drug (AKA Ecstasy), and remembers a terrible thing that happened to her while in middle school. She details her struggle with “telling” the secret to family, friends, and legal representatives. Will she find the strength to tell?
Two things prevented me from awarding this memoir 5 stars:
The nonchalant way in which Griffin details, describes, and deals with a traumatic experience.
Are the memories real? Or are they false memories brought on by a controversial drug? I am still very skeptical about this type of therapy.
I kept having the feeling that Griffin might be another James Frey, as there seemingly was no way to ever prove any of what she remembered actually happened. However, the book is short and well-written and I did find a new topic to research. I don’t want to discount the author’s experience, but the first thing she sees when she takes the drug is THE repressed memory. Would this really happen so quickly? She is also very quick to accept the memory as real.
Trigger warning: sexual assault
I did enjoy the memoir, but for the above reasons rate it 3.5/5 stars rounded up.
After years of striving for perfection in all areas of life, and actively, consciously staying “on the move”, Amy Griffin decides to look inward and find out why she does what she does, uncovering repressed memories, her buried childhood trauma, and then attempting to process it. She bravely shares her story in The Tell.
This book was hard to listen to though certainly not as hard as the actual experiences Amy and others have endured. While I do not share the same specific experiences, I found much of Amy’s demeanor and strive of perfection relatable, and know many women will relate to parts or all of her story. I admire Amy’s courage for doing the work, speaking her truth, and sharing her story — 4.5 stars
You should know: Sexual assault is a prevalent theme in The Tell — Take care when reading.
I don’t believe her. Period. I found the author wholly unlikable and untrustworthy. Something doesn’t add up with her story. Actually a lot of things don’t make sense and are not logical. Moreover, the author selling this story for profit is suspect to me. And how selfish to burden her young children with this! It’s reprehensible that she wanted to dump her emotional baggage on her daughters! If the author couldn’t handle her abuse why would she tell her kids? What did she hope to gain? Why would she think it’s appropriate to tell a young child?? It was pure selfishness on the part of the author, as she clearly was trying to meet her own emotional needs by telling this story to her kids. You can disagree with me, but truthfully all we can do is speculate and opine on her version of this tale.
5 stars. Author Amy Griffin writes in such a clearly articulate, fluid way in the telling of her deeply personal story. While the subject matter is profoundly difficult to read/listen to, Amy Griffin has her own unique style of less is more, by using an honest, quietly spoken approach in THE TELL. For anyone that has went through this trauma they know her words are truth. I give her sincere thanks as this is written not only for her own self journey, but in hope others will see they aren’t alone. This is such an incredible compelling memoir that I feel we can all relate to on some level no matter what the circumstance. Without a doubt this is a powerful and important book that needs to be read and shared. Highly recommend. Pub. 3/11/25
After hearing the glowing review that Drew Barrymore put on this book, I was so excited to read a book that I thought would actually be as Drew put it a “classic piece of literature.” Wrong.. the writing style itself ended up almost seeming like a person that had ADHD with rambling sentences and switches of subjects that often left me thinking what the hell??? in my opinion, I don’t see this book being as a must read for future generations due to this writing style. While the theme of the book was supported by me and I could get on board with the fact that there is a flaw in our society that puts a statute of limitations on physical abuse cases I couldn’t help but think that the writer could’ve done a lot more to develop her character and to develop the other characters in this story. The ending too just left me wondering if the author just wanted to get the book out and published and didn’t really care that the ending was so abrupt. Sorry, Oprah and sorry, Drew this is not in my opinion a piece of classical literature.
This book really made me think about the stigma of doubt attached to abuse survivors. If someone is hit by a car, we accept that they might not remember the incident due to trauma. And if the memory returns, there's no questioning whether it happened. But when the trauma is abuse and the wounds are psychological, there's a tendency towards maybe the whole thing is made up.
Thank you to Random House Publishing and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for my honest review. And thank you to Amy Griffin for having the strength to vulnerably share your story.
This was kind of a disappointing read. While I do think that this book will help many people, I think that there was a lack of self awareness from the author of the privilege that she held.
It’s difficult with memoirs because they are someone’s story, and I can see how much bravery it took to put this story out there.
It felt like this book ended with a pretty bow and all the loose ends tied up. That’s just not the reality of trauma and the lack of acknowledgment of that I think will feel isolating for many readers who have gone through similar experiences.
Also, while this was a book about Griffin’s personal experiences, it left me with an uneasy feeling that none she didn’t really seem to consider how her trauma and her story may affect others in her life. She seemed to hold herself as the holder of the key of overcoming trauma and used her story to tell other people how they could overcome theirs. This book felt quite preachy in that way. For example, she talked about the importance of telling one’s story and how she asked people if they had the room to listen to her story, but she didn’t really talk about what happens when people don’t have that capacity or how telling your story might not be the answer for everyone.
This book had potential and I don’t think it lived up to it.
Oh also! The dialogue with her children felt extremely embellished and I did not at all agree with the way that she told her children or the lack of critical thought of the way that her telling them would affect them. She didn’t discuss the possibility of telling her children with a therapist present or having them see a therapist to process. She also didn’t really go into the process of becoming closer with her children and made it seem like once she told her story her children forgave her for years of distance and they all lived happily ever after.