You know that moment when your child completely melts down in the middle of Target? Last week, my five-year-old lost it over a box of crackers. Not because she couldn’t have them, but because the box had a tiny tear in the corner. She crumpled to the floor, tears streaming, completely overwhelmed by this “broken” box that couldn’t possibly go in our cart.
My old self might have tried to rush through it. Maybe distract her with something shiny or promise a treat if she’d just stop crying. But instead, I sat down right there on that cold linoleum floor, looked her in the eyes, and said the three words that have transformed how I parent through overwhelm: “Tell me more.”
That’s it. That’s the one thing.
When our kids are drowning in big emotions, the best thing we can do is create space for those feelings to exist. Not fix them. Not minimize them. Not rush them toward “fine.” Just hold space and listen.
Why “tell me more” changes everything
Here’s what I’ve learned after countless meltdowns, both public and private: our kids don’t need us to solve their overwhelm. They need us to witness it.
When we say “tell me more,” we’re communicating something profound. We’re saying: Your feelings matter. You’re safe with me. I can handle whatever you’re experiencing right now.
Think about it. When you’re upset, do you want someone immediately jumping in with solutions? Or do you first need someone to just get it? Our kids are the same.
That day in Target, as shoppers stepped around us, my daughter sobbed out her story. The torn box meant the crackers were “hurt.” They might fall out. What if they got lost? What if they were scared in there?
Was this really about crackers? Of course not. She’d had a long day at preschool, missed her afternoon quiet time, and this tiny imperfection was the final straw. But by letting her tell me about those “hurt” crackers, she could finally release all that built-up tension from the day.
The magic is in the pause
“Tell me more” creates a pause. A breath. A moment where we’re not trying to move our kids from point A (upset) to point B (calm). We’re just being with them exactly where they are.
I discovered this approach almost by accident. During my morning gratitude practice (you know, that precious first cup of coffee before anyone else wakes up), I was reflecting on how often I rush through uncomfortable moments. Not just with my kids, but in my own life too. How often do we tell ourselves to “get over it” or “move on already”?
But feelings need time. They need space. They need someone to bear witness.
When we rush our kids through their overwhelm, we’re teaching them that certain feelings are too big, too messy, too inconvenient. We’re inadvertently saying: Quick, stuff that down before someone sees.
Anger is another emotion that deserves the pause button, but is often met with shame, shouting, and harsh consequences.
This short video, Your Child’s Anger Is Not What You Think, explains why moments like these aren’t about misbehavior, but about emotions overwhelming a still-developing brain.
What this looks like in real life
Let me be clear: “Tell me more” doesn’t mean we become emotional doormats. It doesn’t mean we tolerate hitting, throwing, or other aggressive behaviors. It means we separate the feeling from the behavior.
“You’re really angry right now. Tell me more about that. But I can’t let you hit your brother.”
“Something feels really hard. I’m listening. Let’s move to a safe spot where you can tell me all about it.”
Sometimes “tell me more” sounds like “I’m listening” or “What else?” or even just “Mmm-hmm” while they pour out their hearts. The exact words matter less than the intention behind them: I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Your feelings are welcome here.
Yesterday, my daughter came home from playing at the neighbor’s house with tears threatening. Instead of my old default (“What’s wrong? How can I fix this?”), I simply said, “Something happened. Tell me more when you’re ready.”
She climbed into my lap and sat there for a full minute before the words came tumbling out. Her friend had said her drawing “looked weird.” Not mean, really. Just a five-year-old observation. But it had wounded her tender heart.
As she talked, I just listened. I didn’t say her friend was wrong. I didn’t say the drawing was actually beautiful. I didn’t try to explain that her friend probably didn’t mean it that way. I just let her feel disappointed and hurt and a little bit angry.
“That felt really yucky when she said that,” I finally reflected back.
“Yeah,” she sighed, her body relaxing against mine. “Really yucky.”
And that was it. She hopped down and went to play. No fixing required.
The ripple effects you didn’t expect
Here’s what surprises me most: when we consistently respond to overwhelm with “tell me more,” our kids start offering the same gift to others. And to themselves.
I overheard my daughter talking to her stuffed bunny last week: “You’re sad? Tell me more, Bunny. I’m listening.” My heart just about exploded.
She’s learning that feelings aren’t emergencies. They’re just information. They’re just energy moving through our bodies. They’re just part of being human.
This approach has changed our morning routine too. Instead of rushing through breakfast when someone’s grumpy, we pause. “Something feels hard this morning. Want to tell me about it?” Sometimes they do. Sometimes they don’t. But they know the door is open.
When it feels impossible to just listen
Can we be honest for a second? Sometimes sitting with our kids’ overwhelm is the last thing we want to do. When you’re running late, when you’re touched out, when you’ve already handled seventeen meltdowns that day – the idea of creating space for more big feelings feels impossible.
I get it. There are days when I have to take a deep breath and remind myself: This is the work. This is how we build emotional resilience. This is how we raise kids who won’t stuff down their feelings until they explode at thirty-five.
On the really hard days, I keep it simple. Even if I can’t muster a full “tell me more” conversation, I can usually manage “I see you’re having a hard time. I’m here.” Sometimes that’s enough.
Start small, start today
You don’t have to transform your entire parenting approach overnight. Just try it once today. The next time your child seems overwhelmed – whether it’s about homework, a friendship issue, or yes, a torn cracker box – resist the urge to fix. Instead, get curious.
“Tell me more about that.”
“Help me understand.”
“I’m listening.”
Watch what happens when you create space instead of solutions. Notice how your child’s body relaxes when they realize you’re not trying to rush them through their feelings. See how much quicker they actually move through the overwhelm when they’re allowed to fully feel it.
Our kids don’t need perfect parents. They don’t need parents who have all the answers. They need parents who can sit with them in the messy middle of big feelings and say, “Tell me more.”
That’s it. That’s the one thing. And it changes everything.
