Advice is Like a Dick Pic- Stop Giving It Unsolicited.

If I want it, believe me, I’ll ask.

“Do you want advice or sympathy?”

I have learned, at the advanced age of 35, that this is a vital question to ask people when they share their troubles with me. A lot of people are startled when I ask it, because they’re used to getting a pile of advice whether they like it or not. But I’ve discovered that when someone is struggling, they feel out of control — and giving that control back to the person is the first step to helping them.

I tend to believe that people want to help in the best way they know how. Fair enough — offering unsolicited advice is so common it’s become a social norm, even if that’s not always (or even usually) the best policy. We want to fix the other person’s life so they’re not in pain, which is a sweet thing to want to do. However, I suspect that often people want to give advice rather than just listen, not for my sake, but for theirs. They want to feel useful, without asking themselves if they are, in fact, being useful. The fact that people get defensive and upset when you say “I just want to feel heard, I don’t want to have to discuss in depth the solutions or the issues with those solutions” underlines my belief that the giving of advice is not for actually for the sake of the person in pain, but for the person who wants to give the advice. The Art of Seduction, in fact, classifies *rescuers* as a victim type, not the damsel in distress — people who want to help, who base helping as part of their identity, will often ensure they are surrounded by people they see in need of help… whether or not those people actually are. It can be genuinely kind, but it can also quickly turn into a burnout causing form of codependency. If you’re truly going to be present for someone, you have to be willing to meet them where they’re at, and also take care of yourself and your boundaries.

For example, sometimes I post on Facebook to a huge community because I really want to hear people say “wow that sounds rough, you’re not alone”, even if I don’t want advice on steps forward. Asking a huge group means I’m likely to hear back from at least ten people, which makes me feel held, even if I don’t want to talk about it in depth. That’s hugely useful to me, in a way that I can take in and hear.

Also? I generally rant on FB when I have tried all the options. When that’s the case, well meaning advice can make me feel even more desperate, as often it underlines the options I’ve thought about and, for whatever reason, can’t pursue. I don’t necessarily want to write a dissertation on my process, I just want to say “man, this thing that’s unavoidable and hard, and that I’m managing as best I can, is tough and I feel kind of alone about it” and advice just makes me feel talked over, not talked to. What feels like opening doors to you feels to me like the same three doors slamming over and over, which, when depressed or anxious, makes things much worse.

Additionally, I think it’s vital to understand that some of us are dealing with frustrating situations that don’t have a solution, because they’re institutional. For you, what you see might be someone complaining over and over again about a situation that seems like it can be fixed by a lifestyle change, or a change of attitude, or better communication. For us, especially if we’ve had this situation for a while (like a difficult housemate, or a bad work environment, or a health problem) hearing the same advice from a dozen different people is us watching others spin their wheels. The thing that frustrates the “fixers” when we “just complain” bugs those of us looking for sympathy for similar reasons, except for us, the trigger is the advice giving. And I expect many of us have been in a situation with someone ‘splaining to us, even when they have less experience than we do when it comes to the topic at hand. Trust us to be experts on our experience, at least until we ask for that hand up.

Is that true for everyone? Probably not! Some people don’t realize they actually want advice until they’re directly asked. That’s why I’m so on the ball typically telling people that I’ll ask for what I need, and if I forget, I’ll let them know gently by saying that I’m looking for sympathy or company, not advice. After all, not every problem needs solving! Many things just need to be sat with, and that’s ok, even when it’s hard.

Not only can that well-meaning suggestion be frustrating when we didn’t ask for guidance, but it can be downright dangerous. If you offer unsolicited advice on something you don’t have personal experience in, you might actually do more harm than good (and what worked for you may not work for someone else). This makes me think a lot about what I learned about dealing with someone who is in emotional distress because of sexual assault. By giving directives before the person asks for them, you risk taking their power away, which the trauma has already done. By listening and letting them guide you, and respecting them when they ask for what they want, you are then giving that power back to them. That’s why it’s so important.

I don’t think that giving advice is inherently more caring or better than offering sympathy, or vice versa. Both have their advantages and pitfalls, and there’s a range between “all advice is overbearing” or “all sympathy without advice is enabling”. After all, tough love can be given without offering advice or direction, and I believe strongly you can offer sympathy without enabling people. It’s not a duality, but a spectrum.

It’s hard to help someone else when that way of helping is so different from our own. Like love languages, sometimes the ones that come easiest to us aren’t the ones that are heard best by the people we care about. We are a society that likes to talk more than listen, and it’s a Problem with a capital P. But like anything else around consent, it’s important to ask rather than assume. Asking ensures that they have the opportunity to advocate for what they want, and offers you the opportunity to actually *be* compassionate, instead of just performing what you think compassion looks like.

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