There are those sentences that stick with you. Not loud, not dramatic, more like said in passing, and yet they resonate. I wanted to become a large animal veterinarian when I was younger. I don't remember a clear no. But I remember those reactions from my wider circle very clearly, that „Wow, that's intense.“, „You have to be really strong., „That's actually more of a man's thing,“ „As a veterinarian, you also have to go to the slaughterhouse, do you really want that?“.  Or when I already had all my swimming badges in elementary school (3rd or 4th grade) and told my classmates I wanted to become a lifeguard. The reactions were: „Just think about it, you HAVE to jump in, even if you die doing it.“ „If you don't save someone then, you'll go to jail.“ (Very dramatic, I know, but that's how 8-9 year-olds are.). They weren't attacks, more like advice that was served to me. And for a long time, I believed that's exactly what happened, that people wanted to help me understand the world better, prepare me, protect me, keep me safe from something that was perhaps too big for me. Today I know that it had little to do with that. And also that this belief was quite naive. But this naivety is also part of who I am. It's a part of me and my neurodivergent being.

1. Why we believe advice is well-intentioned

Today I see it differently, not because I think people mean harm, but because I increasingly perceive that such advice rarely has anything to do with the other person's reality and much to do with one's own. When someone does something that doesn't quite fit the usual picture, something happens, not necessarily externally, but internally for others. A brief moment arises, a barely perceptible pause, a „Hmm,“ and this „Hmm“ is exciting because it's rarely just curiosity. It's often also a moment where something is irritated.

2. Advice often protects a self-image

Because if you do something differently than the majority, you are saying, without saying it, that there are other ways to do things. That's precisely the point, because this statement isn't a neutral one, but an implicit suggestion, a suggestion for change. Suggestions for change have the characteristic that they always call into question what already exists. And this is precisely where something begins that we often overlook: Your path becomes a mirror for others, and mirrors can be uncomfortable because they raise questions that one might not have wanted to ask.

3. The same principle as resistance in organizations

I see the same thing in organizations: You introduce a new idea, a new process, something that might work better, and suddenly resistance arises. Not necessarily because the idea is bad, but because it touches something – identity, competence, the way things have been done – because if something new is better, the question automatically arises as to what that says about the old.

Being different is an implicit proposal for change

And precisely this mechanism is also evident on a small scale, in conversations, in these seemingly harmless moments when someone talks about what they plan to do, and someone else reacts. Today, I believe that much of this advice has less to do with caring than we think, and more to do with self-protection. With the attempt to keep one's own image of oneself and the world stable. Because if you go your own way, which is different, it raises questions. Not loudly, but palpably: Why did I never do this? Could I have done it? Did I perhaps conform too early? One way to deal with these questions is to pull the other person back a bit, not consciously, not planned, but effectively.

5. Societal Patterns

And at the same time, these pieces of advice are never just individual; they carry society within them. Ideas about who is allowed to do what, who is made for what, what is considered realistic. And they are passed on, sometimes as concern, sometimes as experience, often as something that simply feels right.

6. Advice never works in isolation

What particularly concerns me about this is that advice never exists in isolation. It always falls into an inner world, into experiences, into self-images, into insecurities, into hopes, and we can't control what it triggers there. One sentence can be a brief impulse for one person and a doubt that lingers for another. Perhaps even the very sentence that later resonates when decisions are made. Not because it was intended that way, but because it meets something that is already there. And at the same time, it's true that we all do this. We all give advice, we all have ideas in our heads about what works and what doesn't, including me.

7. Open spaces instead of closed ones

So perhaps it's not about not giving impulses anymore, but rather about how we give them, or more precisely, with what attitude. I notice for myself that it makes a difference whether I formulate something as a reality or as a possibility. Whether I say "That will be difficult" or if I say, "It seems to me like that could be challenging.". It is a small difference in words and a large one in effect.

8. The Reality Waiter

At some point, I found a picture for it that I really like: The reality waiter. The image is from Gunther Schmidt, the founder of hypnosystemic therapy and counseling. The picture describes someone bringing something to the table, a thought, a perspective, a reality, and then leaving it there, without expectation, without the claim that it will be taken, simply as an offer.

9. The Power of Questions

And sometimes I think, maybe we don't even need that in such situations. Maybe it would often be even more powerful to simply ask, not to say what we think, but to remain curious. Because questions do something else: they open, they create space, they allow the other person to remain with themselves. In my examples from back then, that might have meant not saying that it's a tough job. Instead, asking how I imagine daily life, what appeals to me about it, what challenges me, and suddenly it wouldn't have been a judgment anymore, but a joint exploration. Perhaps that's the core, that conversations either open or close spaces of possibility, and that we, often without realizing it, are precisely deciding on that. What I take away from this for myself is less a rule than an awareness, a small pause before speaking, and the quiet question: is this becoming narrower or wider right now?.

10. Essence

Perhaps that's where something begins, not in giving better advice, but in being less sure that we know what's right for others. Perhaps not as a big change, but more as a small shift. An extra moment of pause before speaking. A brief internal check of what's actually happening within me right now. Is there genuine interest in the other person right now, or more of an impulse to organize something, to categorize, perhaps even to calm myself. And then perhaps the attempt not to formulate the first sentence as an answer, but as a question. Or to make one's own thought quieter, softer, as a possibility rather than a truth.„It seems to me...“ And sometimes, not saying anything and simply remaining curious is enough. To sustain a conversation longer without closing it off. And perhaps that's the real practice: to notice when we start to narrow spaces – and then take a small step back.