Tell Me More

1. Embrace Life's Inevitable Ups and Downs

I’m always teetering between a mature acceptance of life’s immutables and a childish railing against the very same.

Accepting reality. The author, Kelly, often finds herself caught between profound gratitude for her blessings and intense frustration over daily annoyances, like her daughters' bickering or a ringing phone. This internal conflict highlights the universal human tendency to resist what is, despite knowing better. She acknowledges that she can spot the difference between trivial and tragic, but struggles to maintain that perspective.

Fighting reality. Kelly's meditation teacher, Will, introduces the phrase "It's like this," suggesting that repeatedly expecting things to be better than experience dictates is a "cool feature of the human mind," even if it causes suffering. He emphasizes that "a lot of people go to war with reality," but true acceptance isn't grim compromise; it's about continuing onward. This perspective encourages moving through challenges rather than getting stuck in resistance.

Grief's recalibration. The death of her beloved father, Greenie, and her friend Liz, profoundly shifts Kelly's perspective, making trivial frustrations seem insignificant compared to the agony of loss. Yet, she still finds herself caught in small irritations, realizing that even profound grief doesn't erase the daily struggle with reality. "It's like this" ultimately applies to the entire human experience: minds reel, hearts swell, and lives thrill and disappear, because that is simply "having a mind," "having a heart," "having a life."

2. The Profound Power of Deep Listening

No one—no hair stylist or waitress, no clerk or cashier, not my spouse and certainly not my children—has listened to me quite so intently, has heard me the way you have.

Beyond advice. Kelly recounts a facial with Tish, who, instead of pushing products, simply listened to Kelly's rambling thoughts about her skin, finances, and self-discipline. Tish's repeated "Tell me more" created a space for Kelly to feel truly heard, leading to a simple, practical solution (bangs) that no one else had offered. This experience underscores that often, people don't need solutions as much as they need to be genuinely listened to.

Empathy as tonic. When Kelly's daughter, Georgia, calls crying about a social conflict, Kelly initially wants to offer advice or find fault. However, guided by her friend Tracy Tuttle's whispered advice to "let her get it out" and "just say it back to her," Kelly practices active listening. By echoing Georgia's feelings and asking "What else?", Kelly helps her daughter articulate the deeper pain of injustice and feeling unsupported, rather than just the surface-level conflict.

Uncovering deeper truths. Kelly and her husband, Edward, reflect on how asking more questions can reveal astonishing stories and hidden depths in people. This is exemplified by Kelly's cab driver, a park ranger planning to manage a rubber plantation in Thailand, and Edward's dinner companion, a former political prisoner and boxing champion. These anecdotes illustrate that people often have incredible stories waiting to be told if only someone takes the time to ask and truly listen, rather than making assumptions.

3. Embrace the Humility of "I Don't Know"

I don’t know is a fairly humble position to take as a parent—humble, and astute.

Challenging certainty. Kelly observes her friend MH's journey through infertility and adoption, noting MH's profound statement about her adopted daughter, Eliza: "I don't know who this kid is." This contrasts sharply with Kelly's own tendency to immediately label and define her children. MH's humility allows Eliza to reveal her true nature over time, free from preconceived notions, highlighting the wisdom in accepting the unknown in parenting.

Professional uncertainty. Kelly's pediatrician friend, Sarah, shares her struggle with parents who demand immediate diagnoses for their children, often after self-diagnosing online. Sarah emphasizes the importance of saying "I don't know" and taking time to gather information, even if it disappoints parents. This professional integrity highlights that sometimes, the most responsible answer is an admission of uncertainty, prioritizing thoroughness over easy answers.

Life's unanswerable questions. The book explores profound uncertainties, from the cause of SIDS to the nature of God. Kelly reflects on her cousin Kathy's eventual acceptance that her son's death "happened because it can," rather than endlessly searching for a "why." This illustrates that some questions have no definitive answers, and peace can be found in embracing that unknowability. Kelly's own faith journey is marked by "I don't know," acknowledging mystery while still holding hope.

4. Find Solace in Shared Understanding and Empathy

Is there a broth more restoring than company?

Connecting through shared pain. Kelly's friendship with Liz deepens significantly during Liz's seven-year battle with cancer. Kelly finds herself able to share intimate details of her own grief and struggles, not because she'd had cancer, but because she was willing to be vulnerable. This mutual sharing of raw experience creates a profound bond, demonstrating that true connection often comes from acknowledging and sharing suffering.

Empathy in grief. At Camp Kesem, a camp for children whose parents have cancer, Kelly witnesses the power of shared experience. A twelve-year-old camper, Lucy, whose father died of pancreatic cancer, offers Kelly profound comfort by simply saying "I know" when Kelly shares her own grief. This simple phrase, devoid of pity, creates an immediate bond of understanding, highlighting that empathy—the recognition of shared human experience—is often more healing than sympathy.

The "broken" connection. Kelly observes that the campers, having experienced profound loss, are "seriously more mature than half the people we go to college with." Her friend Cookie, who lost her mother young, admits she couldn't imagine being with "a regular person," preferring a partner with matching life experience. This suggests that shared hardship can forge unique, deep connections, where individuals understand each other's complexities and vulnerabilities in a way that "unbroken" people might not.

5. The Liberating Strength of Saying "No"

Mary Corrigan knew a cheap yes was a cigarette buzz, passing in minutes, leaving you sour-stomached and polluted, somewhere you don’t want to be, doing something you don’t want to do, with no one but y-o-u to blame.

Childhood rebellion. Kelly recounts her childhood decision to "hate cheese" for ten years, a stubborn act of defiance against her mother's refusal to order individual hoagies for her birthday party. This seemingly trivial act of saying "no" was a formative lesson in asserting her will, even if it meant personal sacrifice. Her mother, a "no pro," never indulged the "allergy," teaching Kelly the formidable power of standing firm.

Parental boundaries. Kelly's mother exemplified the art of saying "no" to maintain her independence and well-being. She would opt out of social events she didn't enjoy, even if it meant taking a separate car to church or letting her husband attend sports games alone. This "chacun à son gout" philosophy allowed her to protect her energy and preferences, demonstrating that love doesn't always mean shared hobbies or constant togetherness, but rather respecting individual needs.

Self-preservation. As her mother neared her seventieth birthday, she requested a unique gift from her children: to only share problems she could help with, and to not share problems she couldn't change. This radical act of self-preservation, born from decades of motherly worry, highlights the importance of setting boundaries for one's own happiness and peace. Kelly also reflects on Edward's "no" to having more children, a decision that, while painful, was essential for his own recovery and their marriage's health.

6. Affirm What Truly Matters by Saying "Yes"

Besides, no makes room for yes, and who doesn’t want more room for that?

Intentional affirmation. Kelly provides a running list of things she will "always say yes to," ranging from simple pleasures like "cracked pepper, grated Parmesan, extra guac" to deeper commitments like "Communion" and "My mom." This list serves as a personal manifesto, highlighting the importance of consciously identifying and embracing what brings joy, connection, and meaning to one's life.

Prioritizing connection. The list includes saying "yes" to "An incoming call from Tracy Tuttle, Cousin Kath, Liz’s Andy," emphasizing the value of maintaining relationships with those who truly matter, especially in times of grief or shared history. It also includes "Sex with my husband (because what if he dies in his sleep?)," a poignant reminder to seize moments of intimacy and connection, recognizing life's fragility.

Embracing comfort and growth. Kelly's "yes" list also encompasses practical comforts and opportunities for personal growth: "More sleep, more volume, more help," "A second opinion," and "Feedback." These choices reflect a desire for ease, support, and continuous improvement, demonstrating that saying "yes" can be about nurturing oneself and being open to learning, not just about external experiences.

7. The Humility and Power of Admitting "I Was Wrong"

I was wrong. It’s harder to say. It’s singular in meaning. And it reeks of humility.

Confronting parental rage. Kelly recounts a deeply embarrassing incident where she furiously accused her daughter Georgia of leaving human waste on the bathroom floor, only to discover it was Claire's. Her subsequent apology to both daughters, particularly the difficult admission "Mommy, it was mine" from Claire, highlights the profound impact of parental anger and the necessity of genuine, unreserved apologies. Kelly realizes her "spazzing" modeled the very behavior she disliked in her children.

The anatomy of an apology. Kelly reflects on her mother's wisdom regarding apologies: they must involve taking responsibility, naming the transgression, conveying contrition, and being delivered plainly, without "but" or "you." She prefers "I was wrong" over "I'm sorry" because of its singular meaning and inherent humility. This framework underscores that a true apology is not about self-justification, but about acknowledging one's mistake and its impact.

Learning from past mistakes. Kelly grapples with her past failure to visit her grandmother, Cleta, more often, despite her father Greenie's subtle encouragement. Greenie's blunt "You should have gone to visit her more" after Cleta's death deeply shames Kelly. This experience teaches her a crucial lesson: to love someone is to love the people they love, and to actively engage with them. She realizes that being wrong is not the same as being bad, but it requires acknowledging the mistake and striving to do better, fostering a "circular, ongoing amnesty" in relationships.

8. Believe in Your "Good Enough" Self

You’re good enough, he’d say, patting my knee. Trust me.

Trustworthiness is enough. Kelly's friend Ariel, a psychotherapist, initially felt like a "charlatan" starting her practicum, questioning her ability to help trauma survivors. Her mentor, Laura, repeatedly assured her, "You don't need to be something you aren't. You're good enough." This foundational belief allowed Ariel to simply listen and be present for her client, Jean, proving that being trustworthy and present is often "enough" to make a profound difference.

Community affirmation. Kelly attends her friend Ariel's daughter Ruby's bat mitzvah, observing the powerful ritual that affirms a teenager's readiness for adulthood. Rabbi Michael explains that the ceremony is designed to help kids "find and feel their own power," not as needy children but as forces for good. He notes a "hundred percent hit rate" for growth, emphasizing that the community's belief in a child's "enoughness" helps them step into their potential, even if they don't feel ready.

Unwavering belief. Kelly reflects on her own tumultuous adolescence, marked by being fired, shoplifting, and a DUI. Despite her "plunging trend line," her father, Greenie, consistently told her, "You're good enough. Trust me." His unwavering belief, even against all evidence, eventually helped Kelly internalize that she was capable of sorting things out. This highlights the transformative power of someone important believing in us, loudly and with conviction, until we can believe in our "good enough" selves.

9. Unconditional Love Endures All Flaws

I believe this emotional largesse is sometimes called forgiveness.

Love's true definition. Kelly redefines "I love you" beyond superficial attraction, describing it as an acknowledgment of enduring affection despite flaws, irritations, and shortcomings. It's "Even though your neck dropped into a wattle last year and you burp a lot after you eat Thai food... I love you." This profound statement emphasizes that true love is not blind to imperfections but embraces them, recognizing the full, messy reality of a person.

The wheel of forgiveness. Kelly asserts that "immediate, often unsolicited, sometimes undeserved forgiveness" is what "turns the wheel of family life." She lists various relationships where forgiveness is constantly required:

• Parents, for their mistakes and blind spots.
• Siblings, for perceived advantages or differences.
• Children, for diverging from expectations or forgetting to call.
• Ourselves, for falling short of youthful dreams.
  This continuous act of pardoning, despite "sprawling deficiency," allows love to persist and grow.

Love in the face of loss. The chapter culminates in the ultimate expression of love to a dying parent: "Even though you said you were feeling better... and you left anyway, and I can't find you anywhere except on my answering machine... I love you." This raw, honest declaration captures the enduring nature of love, even when faced with the pain of abandonment and the finality of death, demonstrating that love transcends presence and circumstance.

10. The Eloquence of Silence and Presence

Close silence—that’s all they need.

Beyond words in grief. After Liz's death, Kelly finds herself unable to engage in typical conversations about grief, feeling that "nutshelling" the experience makes it "cheap and phony." She avoids phone calls, fearing that she might lose track of Liz or accidentally care about trivial matters. This highlights the inadequacy of language to capture profound loss and the need for a different kind of connection—one that honors the depth of feeling without trivializing it.

The power of non-verbal connection. Kelly observes that "arranging words into sentences requires we flip on our thinking machine," which can detract from fully experiencing a feeling. She notes that "facial expressions were invented" for witnessing virtuosity, and that "the reach of language can be laughable" when describing despair. This underscores the importance of non-verbal communication—cheers, dance, high fives, embraces, and emojis—in conveying emotions that words cannot.

NICU's quiet comfort. As a volunteer in the NICU, Kelly learns from a seasoned staffer, Bette, that "Close silence—that's all they need." Kelly holds fragile infants, offering her warmth and heartbeat as an "incalculable improvement on his indifferent crib." This experience teaches her the profound power of quiet presence and attentive touch, demonstrating that sometimes, the most meaningful support comes not from words, but from simply being there, fully present and attuned to another's needs.

11. Moving "Onward" Through Grief and Connection

We cannot be with her; we cannot land and join her. We must accept that this mission must be aborted and the plans we made to explore, discover, challenge, and learn together cannot be carried out.

Grief as propulsion. Kelly uses the metaphor of Apollo 13 to describe navigating grief after Liz's death. The astronauts (the kids and Kelly) are damaged but must use the moon's (Liz's) gravitational power to propel them back to Earth (life). This means accepting the aborted mission of shared life, but using Liz's enduring presence and influence as a force to move "onward."

Ground control's role. In the Apollo 13 metaphor, friends and family are "ground control," providing connection and guidance without being able to fully understand the isolation of space. They offer comfort and track progress, ensuring the "astronauts" are not lost. This highlights the vital role of a supportive community in helping individuals navigate profound loss, even when they cannot fully share the experience.

Liz's enduring legacy. Kelly describes how Liz, like JFK, "set the whole thing up for success" by training her loved ones to pay attention, listen, engage, and love. Andy, Liz's husband, becomes her "apprentice," learning to be both mother and father, embracing her idiosyncrasies, and creating annual traditions to keep her memory alive for their children. This demonstrates that while physical presence is lost, the essence of a loved one can continue to shape and inspire those left behind, driving them to live and triumph in the face of catastrophe.

Last updated: October 24, 2025