I’m Really Good at Saying the Right Thing
I’m great at giving advice.
Not the kind that sounds rehearsed or ripped from a Pinterest quote — just quiet, sturdy truths I’ve collected over time. The kind of advice you give someone at 11PM after they’ve spiraled for the third time this month. The kind that makes people pause and say, “You’re right. I needed that.”
I always seem to know what to say — to others.
To myself? Not so much.
I Know What I’d Tell Someone Else
I tell people to leave when they’re unhappy.
To choose themselves.
To rest.
To stop pouring into relationships, jobs, or routines that don’t pour back.
I remind people that they’re allowed to change their mind.
That staying isn’t always noble.
That sometimes, peace looks like quitting.
And I believe all of it — genuinely. I don’t give advice I don’t stand behind.
But when I’m the one sitting in the fire, I’ll wait it out. I’ll negotiate with the smoke. I’ll convince myself it’s not that hot.
I’ve told people:
- “If it’s draining you, it’s not worth it.”
- “You already know what to do.”
- “You’re allowed to start over.”
And then I’ve ignored that same advice like it wasn’t meant for me.
Sometimes I Do Listen (Just… Eventually)
It’s not that I never take my own advice. I do.
Sometimes months later. Sometimes years.
After I’ve run out of excuses or hit rock bottom or just gotten too tired to pretend I’m fine.
I’ve left situations that were bleeding me dry.
I’ve burned bridges I built out of guilt.
I’ve rested when I couldn’t pretend I didn’t need it anymore.
But I rarely take the advice when it’s fresh.
I let it age like wine — or milk — depending on the day.
Why It’s So Hard to Take Our Own Advice
I’ve thought a lot about this.
Why is it so easy to give clarity to others and so hard to offer it to ourselves?
I think part of it is distance.
When you’re not tangled up in someone’s history, pain, or shame — it’s easier to see the truth. You can speak from a place of objectivity. There’s less to lose.
But when it’s your life, your decision, your consequence?
Everything gets murky. Scarier. Heavier. You feel like you need a perfect plan, a five-step strategy, a sign from the universe.
So instead of doing the thing you know you need to do, you stall. You overthink. You shrink.
And you ignore your own advice — not because it’s wrong, but because it’s real.
And real comes with risk.
I Used to Judge People for This — Now I Just Get It
I used to get frustrated watching people give advice they never follow.
You know the type — the “you deserve better” friend still texting their ex, the wellness coach who hasn’t slept in weeks, the coworker preaching boundaries while burning themselves out.
I wanted to call them hypocrites.
Now I just see them as human.
It’s not that they don’t believe what they say. It’s that believing is easier than doing.
Knowing better isn’t the same as feeling ready.
Sometimes we say the right thing out loud because we’re trying to believe it too.
I’m Learning to Follow My Own Advice (Softly)
I don’t expect myself to be perfect at this.
But I’m trying to catch myself now — when I say something to a friend and hear it echo inside my own chest.
I’m trying to slow down and ask:
Would I say this to someone I love?
Would I want them to ignore it the way I’m about to?
Sometimes I still don’t follow through.
But other times, I do. Quietly. Late. Clumsily.
And that counts.
In Case I Forget Again (Because I Will)
Just in case I need a reminder (and I will), here’s the advice I give the most — the advice I’ll try to believe the next time I’m spiraling:
You’re allowed to leave. Even if you’re good at staying.
You don’t have to earn rest. You’re not a machine.
Clarity isn’t always comfortable. But it’s still clarity.
You already know. You’ve always known.
I’m trying to become someone who doesn’t just give good advice —
but lives like it matters.
To me too.
It’s Easier to Help Someone Else Than Yourself
There’s a strange comfort in telling someone else what they should do.
You can see their situation more clearly. There’s emotional distance. You’re not the one holding the fear, so your words feel wise — even when you wouldn’t follow them yourself.
I’ve noticed that the advice I give to others is often the exact thing I’m avoiding.
Sometimes I think, if I say it enough, maybe I’ll believe it too.
But that’s where the real work is. Not in knowing better — but in applying that advice to your own life.
It’s easy to say, “You deserve better.”
Harder to leave.
Easy to say, “Don’t overthink it.”
Harder to quiet the voice that replays every decision 30 times before doing anything at all.
We all struggle to apply the advice we know is right. That doesn’t make us weak. It makes us human.
I Don’t Want to Seem Better — I Want to Get Better
I’ve spent a lot of time trying to sound like I have things figured out.
Like I’m the calm friend. The strong one. The one who’s good at giving advice.
But lately, I don’t want to be known for being wise. I want to be known for being real.
For trying. For stumbling forward. For telling the truth, even if I’m still learning how to live it.
So here’s my truth: I give good advice.
And sometimes, I actually take it.
Knowing Isn’t the Same as Doing
Giving advice to others is easy when you’re not the one facing the consequences. When I’m telling someone else what I think they should do, it feels obvious. I’m not caught in their emotions. I’m not clouded by their self-doubt.
But when it’s me? That clarity vanishes.
Applying that advice to myself takes so much more than logic. It takes courage. Self-trust. And honestly? A willingness to be wrong.
I think many of us fall into this gap — the one between what we say and what we do. It’s not always hypocrisy. It’s fear. It’s comfort. It’s that moment where you know what you should do, but you’re still not ready to choose it.
Advice Is Easier Said Than Done
I’ve spent years giving what I thought was great advice to others — career moves, relationship choices, burnout boundaries, all of it. And from the outside, I might even seem to be better at managing things than I am.
But that’s the thing about good advice: it’s often easier said than done.
We all hesitate. We all get stuck. And we all struggle to apply the very wisdom we give out.
At the end of the day, giving advice doesn’t mean you have it all figured out.
It just means you’re paying attention.