When It's Hard to Take Your Own Advice
It’s funny how clear things seem when we’re not the ones going through them. A friend calls you in tears, struggling with a breakup. You say all the right things. You remind them of their strength, their worth, their resilience. You speak with clarity and love, offering wisdom you truly believe. Then your own heart gets broken, and suddenly, all that clarity disappears. The advice you gave so freely now feels like a distant echo you can’t quite reach.
One of my favorite shows, Shrinking, captures this paradox perfectly. The main character is a therapis- a professional trained to help others sort through life’s most difficult moments. He gives thoughtful, compassionate advice to his patients every day. Yet in his own life, he’s falling apart. Grieving, avoiding, reacting in ways he would warn others against. It’s a powerful reminder that knowing what to do and actually doing it are two very different things.
Why is it so hard to take our own advice? Why is it easier to hold space for others than for ourselves? Maybe it's because we are too close to our own pain. Our perspective is clouded by emotion, ego, and old stories we haven’t yet untangled. Maybe it’s because we forget to offer ourselves the same kindness we offer to people we love.
I’ve had many moments where I’ve felt deeply connected to peace. I’ve experienced what it’s like to be fully present, to carry a calm and open energy, to let life flow rather than fight it. I’ve studied, read, practiced, and embodied these teachings. But the truth is, I still get thrown off. I still have days where something someone says stings more than it should, or things don’t go as planned. Lately, my hormones shift and I just feel off. No amount of wisdom makes you immune to being human.
What helps is remembering that I have touched peace. I know what it feels like. That memory becomes a compass, reminding me to return-not perfectly, not instantly, but eventually. Eckhart Tolle talks about this in his teachings on being and doing. When we’re only focused on doing-fixing, achieving, solving, we forget to be. To stop. To breathe. To feel. Presence isn’t something we force. It’s something we allow. When we return to it, even for a moment, we can begin to see again with clearer eyes.
The goal isn’t to never get knocked down. The goal is to not stay there too long. That story of sadness, anger, frustration might visit you, but it can’t take up permanent residence. You don’t need to deny your pain, but you also don’t need to make it your identity.
So what helps you come back? Maybe it’s movement-walking, stretching, dancing. Maybe it’s journaling, so you can hear your own thoughts without judgment. Maybe it’s a quiet moment with a cup of tea and your hand on your heart. Or maybe it’s as simple as asking yourself, What would I say to someone I love if they were feeling this way? Then say it to yourself. You’re not failing because you forgot. You’re not broken because you’re struggling. You’re human and doing the best you can, learning to return to your center again and again. That’s the practice. That’s the grace. That’s the work.
Every time you choose presence, even after falling off, you build a deeper trust in yourself. A reminder that no matter how far you drift, you can always come home.
