Why letting go of “being helpful” might be the most helpful thing of all At first glance, advice seems like a gift. Someone shares a problem. You listen. You’ve been there before; or read the book, solved the riddle, fought the battle. So you offer your insight. Your version of the solution. A shortcut. A lesson learned the hard way, handed over for free. But there’s a problem with advice - it often does more for the giver than the receiver. Michael Bungay Stanier, author of The Coaching Habit and The Advice Trap, has built much of his work around this exact point. We’re all addicted to advice, he says; especially smart, caring people. We want to help. We want to show we’ve understood. We want to prove our value. However, in doing so, we risk undermining the very person we’re trying to support. Advice giving - especially too soon - can short-circuit growth. Instead of letting someone wrestle with the real issue, we jump in with the answer we think fits. Instead of drawing out their wisdom, we insert our own. We assume their situation matches our experience and forget that even a perfect solution, delivered at the wrong moment, can land as condescending, disempowering, or just plain irrelevant. This isn’t just a coaching issue; it’s human nature, and it shows up everywhere. Advice in the gym In the training room, my role is often instructional. I’m there to explain techniques, structure sessions, and keep people safe. But even in that environment, I try to stay mindful of how much ownership the client retains. For example, if someone struggles with a lift, I don’t always rush in to adjust. Provided I’m comfortable no one is at risk of getting hurt, I prefer to leave a space for people to figure out an adjustment on their own, or adjust their approach based on what others are doing around them. Sometimes I’ll offer a suggestion ,but only after giving space for their own reflection. The second I become the expert in their body, they stop being one. This is the critical reason that I insist in my policies that clients avoid coaching and correcting one another. They’re the only one who takes that body home. My job isn’t just to build strength, it’s to build self-trust. To help people feel capable in their own decisions. To let them feel what it’s like to be in charge of their own process, even inside an instructive setting. Growth isn’t simply about receiving a solution to a problem. Growth is about the journey, the struggle, and about pride and ownership of success. It’s these philosophies from my coaching work that find their way into the gym. Advice in coaching Coaching is often confused with mentoring or guiding. But a coach’s job, at its best, is to illuminate; not to direct. We ask questions to help people see what they haven’t yet noticed. We challenge gently. We reflect back their own words, so they can hear them more clearly. We hold space for tension, ambiguity, and paradox. We don’t solve the problem. We sit beside it with them. Sometimes that’s uncomfortable. It would be so much easier to say, “Here’s what I think you should do.” And sometimes the client even asks for that. But offering advice too early robs people of the chance to generate their own insight - and insight is far more powerful than instruction. The moment they discover something themselves, it sticks. It matters. They own it. Stanier puts it this way: “Even if your advice is good, giving it may not be.” Because if they don’t act on it, you feel frustrated. If they do act on it and it fails, you feel responsible. And if it works? They may still feel it wasn’t really their win. Why we crave giving advice There’s ego in advice. Even if it’s well-meaning. It makes us feel competent. Helpful. Wise. We see someone in distress, and we want to relieve it. The real driver, though, is often our own discomfort with not helping. That discomfort is worth paying attention to, because sometimes the most helpful thing you can do is stay curious. Stay quiet. Let the other person find their way, with you beside them, not pulling them along. It takes restraint. It takes trust. It takes practice. Even self-help needs self-discovery The irony is that the best advice often sounds unremarkable, because what people really need is usually something they already suspect. They need permission to trust themselves. To go slow. To change their mind. To start where they are. That’s why, in my own coaching and training work, I try to focus on process over prescription. I want people to learn how to ask themselves better questions. To reflect. To notice. To get more attuned to their own data. That’s how change becomes sustainable; not because they followed someone else’s plan, but because they understood their own reasons. What this means for all of us You don’t need to be a coach or trainer to practice this. You might be a parent. A partner. A friend. In those roles, the temptation to fix can be even stronger. Next time someone opens up to you, try this: resist the urge to help. Ask one more question. Reflect back what you heard. Let them explore the space. Let them feel your presence, not your prescription. You might be surprised at what unfolds. Ultimately, the best support we can offer isn’t a shortcut or a solution. It’s belief. It’s patience. It’s helping someone realize that they already hold the pen - they just needed a bit more confidence to write the next page.
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