Shut the f*ck up and stop giving advice
Forgive me my histrionic headline, but I’m actually telling myself this. And I thought, if I need the reminder, maybe you do, too.
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I met one of my adult learners of English yesterday. She’s a wonderful woman, warm, caring, studious, too cheerful at times. (Just a bit of false positivity and minimizing experience, something we all do from time to time, especially when we’re at work and need to be professional.) She is also far more grounded and authentic than she was just a year ago, because she went through a major life crisis (I won’t go into details, I’m sure you can imagine all sorts of life crises). She learned a lot through the experience, about how to take care of herself and her boundaries and that her worth does not depend on external forces. (Can I get an amen?)
She is also suffering from some health issues that stymie the local medical community; her doctors are unable to treat her competently. As her English teacher, my role in this conversation was to listen empathetically, give her space to express herself, and correct any mistakes I felt needed correction. It was certainly not to give her advice. Yet that is exactly what I did. (Sigh. Still learning.)
My budding inner herbalist glommed onto the only fact of her illness that she had shared with me, and I asked her if she had tried drinking dandelion tea. I could instantly sense her reaction; the well-intentioned yet misguided piece of advice was probably one of many that she had received over the course of her illness.
And I kicked myself in the shins.
I hate receiving unsolicited advice. When I want help, I ask for it. When I am open to suggestions, I seek them. (Something along the lines of, this works for me, what works for you?) But the rest of the time, I’m content with navigating life on my own terms, following the beat of my inner drummer (even if my drummer occasionally leads me into a swamp).
I’m positively and absolutely allergic to statements of ‘you should’ and ‘don’t do…’ and ‘have you tried’. I know they come from places of love and concern. But that doesn’t stop the allergy. To me, my lived experience, with all its trials and failures, is far more important than someone saying, “you shouldn’t go there, do that, try that.” (Did I mention I’m stubborn?)
What this recent experience, among many, has reminded me, is that we live in an age of unprecedented access to information; we consume it to the detriment of our own inner truth and knowing. It’s like using Google maps to guide me to a location and then driving off a cliff (if I’m not paying attention). Anyone with a smartphone and the Internet can play doctor or expert, right?
We don’t like discomfort. We don’t want to feel pain. And sometimes it is more difficult to see a loved one in pain than be in pain ourselves. What a helpless feeling, knowing someone else is hurting but being unable to do anything about it. So yes, it is very uncomfortable to meet someone else in their discomfort, in their pain. It’s very human to want to fix things, to improve them, to help. To build bridges (just a second, I’ll get to this).
Speaking for myself (the only person I’m qualified to speak for), I want presence more than help. (I wrote a whole article here about giving up the need to help people.) When I’m in pain, I just want a listening ear, a warm hug, not a laundry list of possible remedies and solutions. Bless my ever-stubborn heart, I actually want to know my pain, to feel it, to acknowledge that it exists. Hell, I even want to know the shape of it, the story it tells. I’m speaking both of emotional and physical pain.
All pain is a teacher. And yet so many of us want a cheat sheet.
“I will build no bridges for you, for it is in the chasm itself that the treasure is found.” (This is something a very wise character in my novel spontaneously said some time ago, which I have taken very much to heart.)
I have been told, time and again, that it is my presence that people find nourishing. My calm aura of peace, love, and acceptance is far greater balm than any off-hand remark or suggestion. And I know when it is time to say something, to share a personal story or observation. But even then, I carefully couch my response as an experience that has benefitted me, but may not be for everyone.
(This is also the reason I don’t write articles that tell you what to do — I’m not like those other Medium authors who give you five things for a kick-ass morning routine or other such hooey. I share my lived experience. Full stop.)
I hate seeing people in pain, including this woman who is dear to me. I would rather show my love and devotion by meeting them in the chasm, not by throwing half-assed lifelines down the cliffs and watching from above.
You may not be like me. That’s okay. There are all sorts of people in the world. The next time, however, you meet someone who is as allergic to advice as I am, you’ll understand one reason why. They want you to meet them in the chasm; bridges are no use when you’re already in the deep.
I’m grateful for the reminder, to just shut the f*ck up and listen with love.
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I hope you enjoyed my musings. Follow me to read more about my life journey, my transition into a career as an end-of-life doula, and as a novelist. I promise to tell authentic stories and not give advice.
