Hi, I’m Samuel. A few years ago, a younger colleague named Priya asked me for advice after a difficult client presentation. She had prepared carefully, but the meeting had not gone well. The client interrupted her several times, a senior colleague answered questions that were directed at her, and by the end she had lost confidence in what she was saying. She asked me what she should do differently next time. I wanted to be encouraging, so I said, “You just need to be more confident. Don’t overthink it.” At the time, that sounded like helpful advice. It was positive, simple, and easy to remember. The problem was that it gave her almost nothing she could actually use. It described how I wanted her to feel, but not what she could do. It also ignored the power dynamics in the room and treated the whole situation as if it were only a personal confidence problem. A few days later, I watched a recording of the presentation. I noticed that Priya’s opening was too broad, so the client was not sure where the conversation was going. Her slides contained too much information. More importantly, nobody on our side had agreed who would answer which questions. When Priya paused to think, her senior colleague interpreted the silence as an invitation to speak. Her confidence had certainly been affected, but it was not the only issue. My advice had shifted responsibility entirely onto her. It suggested that if she simply changed her attitude, everything else would improve. I apologised and asked whether we could prepare for the next presentation together. This time, we focused on actions rather than personality. She practised the first two minutes until the opening felt clear. We agreed who would answer different kinds of questions. She reduced the amount of text on her slides and prepared a sentence she could use if someone interrupted: “I’d like to finish this point first, and then I’ll come back to your question.” We also asked the senior colleague to wait a few seconds before answering on her behalf. He had not realised that his attempt to help was making it harder for her to lead the presentation. The next meeting went much better. Priya did not suddenly become a completely different person. She was still nervous at the beginning. But the structure supported her, the roles were clearer, and she had specific language ready for difficult moments. That experience changed the way I think about advice. Bad advice is not always cruel or obviously wrong. Sometimes it sounds intelligent because it is short and confident. Phrases such as “Trust your instincts,” “Follow your passion,” “Communicate better,” or “Be more proactive” can contain useful ideas. But without context, they are directions without a map. Good advice needs to connect to the actual constraints of a situation. It should be specific enough to act on, but flexible enough to respect what the other person already knows. I have also realised that quick advice is sometimes more comfortable for the person giving it than for the person receiving it. Complex problems make us uncomfortable. We want to fix them quickly, so we offer a clean answer before we have understood the full situation. Sometimes the most helpful response is not advice at all. It may be a question such as, “Which part was most difficult?” or “Do you want ideas, or do you just need me to listen?” These questions slow the conversation down and prevent us from solving the wrong problem. Now, before giving advice, I ask about the person’s goal, what they have already tried, and what limitations they are facing. Sometimes they need practical ideas. Sometimes they already know the next step but need reassurance. Sometimes the problem is not personal at all; it is created by the system around them. I no longer believe that good advice is advice that makes the speaker sound wise. Good advice should increase another person’s ability to think. It should help them see the situation more clearly and choose a realistic next action.