Advice, everyone has some. Most of the time it does seem to be given from a place of good intent. I’ve received lots of advice over the past 15 months.
Most of it was really useless, useless to me at least at the time it was offered up. I wasn’t ready for it. That is what made it useless.
Advice is shit most of the time, what I found was most profound during the tough days, was having someone not give their well-meaning advice. To just be in that moment and to be as normal as normal can be in that given moment.
Very few people got that, those that did, seemed to have come out the other side of their own dark and similar places.
I didn’t need advice to get out of it, I know and knew all of it on an intellectual level. The well-meant advice would serve more as a catalyst for more self-imposed shame. The shame I felt for failing at what they so easily could dole out as the most common sense shit that I was too stupid to grasp. Even though I knew that was it.
I didn’t and I don’t need to know more of the obvious. I live it, each and every day. There are good days where I feel whole and confident. There are really bad and tough days where I sit just shy of hating and loathing myself for having a bad day.
The best advice, take the advice and shut the fuck up.
I’m not asking for how to be fixed, or for anyone to fix me. I’m asking to let me back in to the normal, boring ass life where advice given and taken is about how to brew a better cup of coffee or bake a better pie to go with that cup of coffee.
I’m coming out swinging and the only advice I want receive on getting as far the fuck of this domestic abuse cycle that is my soon to be ex-husband, is from my attorney.