Whose life is this? The costs of advice
We can’t seem to stop telling others how to live their lives: what to eat, how much to exercise, how to raise a kid, what to believe, or even how to manage our ADHD.
Advice is everywhere, handed out like free samples at a grocery store—sometimes out of kindness, sometimes because we feel awkward and just need to say something, sometimes we want to validate our own choices, and sometimes to make ourselves feel better when someone else is struggling.
Ironically, the advice we give is often advice we won’t follow ourselves.
Of course, there are situations where advice feels necessary—like in a crisis. If a friend tells you they’re in danger, your instinct is to urge them to protect themselves, seek help, or call the authorities.
But what about other moments? The less urgent ones. The ones no one asked for our advice.
Maybe your friend shares that they had a fight with their partner. Or a colleague vents about their overwhelming workload. Perhaps a parent you know is pulling their hair out over their rebellious teenager. Or your sibling can’t seem to shake a breakup. And there you are, advice ready, locked and loaded.
“You should limit their screen time.” “I think you should start looking for a new job.” “You need a vacation.”
All well-intentioned, no doubt. But advice rarely works and can sometimes do more harm than good. It’s not always the advice itself that causes harm; it's the subtle shifts in power dynamics, the unintended messages we send when we tell someone how to navigate their life.
Most advice feels like criticism. Take parents, for example. They’re bombarded with unsolicited suggestions, from how to discipline their kids to the "right" parenting style. Everyone seems to have an opinion on how they should raise their children. But underneath these messages is the implication that something about them, or how they're living, is wrong—like it’s the advisor’s job to fix them. The truth is, people are usually well aware of what's not working in their lives. What they really need is space to find their own way of addressing those challenges, in a way that fits their unique circumstances.
Do people even like to act on advice? Not so much. Have you ever thought why people push back when someone says, “You should eat healthier.” or “Get more exercise.”? It’s not just teenagers who rebel against being told what to do—adults do it too. Reactance theory explains this: when we think our autonomy is threatened, we react defensively. Advice can feel like someone is infringing on our freedom, and even when the advice is sound, it creates discomfort. Ironically, the more we try to “help” with advice, the more likely we are to push people away.
There’s also an interesting power dynamic at play when we give advice. Research by Michael Scharer and colleagues showed that giving advice—even when it wasn’t asked for—boosted the advisor’s sense of control and dominance. In other words, giving advice, regardless of whether it’s helpful, can increase our own feeling of power, which may explain why advice often triggers feelings of annoyance or defensiveness in others.
I’ve more or less stopped sharing my struggles with most of my friends and family. I can’t handle one more, “Have you tried meditation?” or “You should move to a sunnier place,” when all I really want is someone to just listen or help me see a different angle. Receiving advice often makes me frustrated and misunderstood. And if I point out that their advice makes me feel worse, well, I see offended expressions.
There are times when I actively seek out input from others, but it’s not quite what I’ve been describing. I might ask, 'Have you faced a similar situation before? What did you do?' or 'What do you think I should consider while navigating this?' I’m not asking for direct advice—I'm looking for experiences or perspectives. It’s up to me how I process that information. But when unsolicited advice comes after I share, especially if it’s irrelevant or out of context, it’s off-putting.
The advice we give comes from our own perspectives, assumptions, and experiences. But our experiences are just one tiny puzzle piece in human complexity. We can’t possibly understand the full context of people’s lives, their feelings, or the hidden challenges they’re dealing with. It’s easy to assume that we’re helping, when, in fact, we might be unknowingly distorting their reality with our own lens. What worked for us might not work for someone else.
And what happens when your advice backfires? Imagine someone saying, “I tried what you suggested, and now I’m in a worse place.” The blame will bounce back to you. And we rarely stick around to see how our advice plays out in the long run. We drop a quick, “You should do this,” and walk away, leaving them to figure it out. But if it turns out poorly, they’re left dealing with the consequences—and maybe even wondering why they ever listened to you in the first place.
One of the first lessons I learned during my training as a psychotherapist was that advice rarely, if ever, works in therapy. If it did, people wouldn’t need therapy—after all, the world is overflowing with advice. But many assume that the role of a therapist is to dispense it, as if we are the experts who hold all the answers.
Giving direct advice in therapy doesn’t help clients understand themselves or explore their issues. It shuts down the process of self-reflection, disempowers them, and imposes the therapist’s frame of reference onto the client’s life. It closes doors rather than opens them. Real life is not that different.
Even when a client asks for my advice, I rarely do it (unless the client or someone else is in danger). Instead, I might ask a question or offer a comment, depending on where we are in our relationship and how well I know them. For example, I might ask, “What would you do with the advice you’re seeking?” to understand their motives and needs. Or if I notice a client’s pattern of advice-seeking to avoid responsibility, I might say, “Have you noticed that whenever you feel stuck, you ask me for advice?” This shifts the conversation back to them, helping them navigate their own path. Or, I might simply say, “I don’t know what you should do, but I’m willing to work with you to figure out the best course of action.”
So, how do we support people when they’re facing challenges without giving advice?
Be a companion and an attentive listener, not a fixer.
When someone shares their struggles, it forces us to face their discomfort—and that’s hard. It pushes us into a ‘fixing mode’. When we feel personal distress, we tend to withdraw from the interaction, have difficulty fully attending to other’s experience and offering help, and are more likely to provide quick fixes or overly optimistic responses. To fix our own distress and discomfort, we fix the other person’s problem. Maybe if the person takes our advice and feels better, we’ll feel better too.
But this leads to bypassing the real emotions at play. What people really need is someone to listen without judgment and offer support rather than ready-made solutions. Someone who can sit with them and offer compassion without trying to take control. A presence that allows others the freedom to discover their way. Sometimes the best thing you can offer is just being there with someone in their struggle, without trying to fix it. It’s a gesture that says, “I’m here, and I’ve got your back, no matter how messy this gets.”
Share experience and information, not directives.
Teaching, guiding, mentoring, sharing—these are all valuable for both you and those who want to learn from or be inspired by you, like I aim to do with this newsletter. But remember, it’s not the same as jumping in with advice when someone shares a challenge or vents about something.
Sharing wisdom comes from a place of humility, leaving room for the other person to make their own decisions. Instead of, “Here’s what you should do,” it sounds more like, “This is something I’ve been through (or learned), and here’s what helped me—maybe there is something you can take from it. You’re not imposing a solution; you’re offering a possibility they can consider as they make their own choices. Ultimately, the best advice often doesn’t feel like advice at all.
Help people gain perspective.
When we’re caught in a difficult situation, our thinking narrows, and our emotions cloud our judgment. In these moments, people don’t need someone to tell us what to do, but to see things from a different angle and consider new possibilities. Researchbacks this up: when we’re able to take different perspectives, we become better at regulating our distress, solving our problems, and treating ourselves more compassionately.
Instead of offering direct advice, help people gain that perspective. Ask questions that encourage broader thinking: “What would it look like if you stepped back and considered this from another angle?” “Have you thought about how this situation might look a few months from now?” “What do you think your future self in a year will need?” This helps people come up with their own solutions, respecting their autonomy and empowering them to take control.
If you think you have good advice, give it to yourself.
Research by Lauren Eskreis-Winkler and her colleagues has found that giving advice makes the advisor feel good—competent, knowledgeable, helpful, and joyful, and motivates them toward behaviour change. But the person on the receiving end does not necessarily get real benefits.
So, if you think you have good advice, try offering it to yourself first. “What would I tell my younger self about navigating uncertainty?” “What advice would I give my future self to stay grounded in tough times?” This is a humbling process. It reminds you that the person in front of you may need time, space, or to go on a journey of self-discovery, just as you would if you were in their shoes. As Cicero said, “No one can give you better advice than yourself.”
When in doubt, just ask.
If you're unsure whether they want advice, or if you think you have something helpful to offer, it's always better to ask first. “Would you like my input on this?” “Can I suggest something that worked for me?” “Are you asking for my advice?”
If they say no, that’s completely fine—respect their decision. If they say yes, keep in mind that giving advice doesn’t guarantee they’ll follow it. More importantly, they’re not obligated to.
Offering advice can seem helpful in the moment, but it often blocks the other person from finding their own way forward. What people need most isn’t a roadmap drawn by someone else; it’s space to be truly heard, room to figure things out for themselves.
“Whose life is this?” is a powerful question to ask ourselves from time to time. It reminds us of the delicate balance between caring and controlling, between supporting and suffocating. It’s a gentle nudge that encourages us to be more mindful of our boundaries and the boundaries of others.