From the very first pages, The Red Flag Diaries feels like a conversation with a friend who’s been through the wringer—and lived to tell the tale. Rather than a glittering romance memoir, what we find here is something textured, lively, uneasy, and honest: a collection of real-life-tinged stories about love, loss, and life, with the “red flags” (and the green lights) laid bare.
The structure is loose enough to feel spontaneous—pieces of memoir, pieces of reflection, pieces of “okay, here’s a red-flag moment I didn’t expect” and then “what did I learn from it?” And that’s what gives the book its pulse. It’s not about glossy perfection. It’s about the bruise, the bandage, the scar, and the lesson.
The Red Flag Diaries doesn’t promise the end of struggle—it promises the continuation of living. And for that, I found it beautiful.