When Advice Hurts: The Subtle Violence of Projection (and How to Share From a Place of Purity)

When I publicly shared about my divorce, I did so from a place of clarity, healing, and love. I wasn’t confused. I wasn’t angry. I wasn’t lost or broken or bitter. And yet, some of the responses I received made it clear how difficult it is for some people to see another person clearly when their story doesn’t align with their own internal narratives. 

And it's true that most messages, especially from our friends, were deeply supportive. But human minds are wired to linger on the uncomfortable rather than the kind — so mine did linger on the few strange responses I received from strangers, and thus this blog post was born.

One woman I’ve met only a few times messaged me to say that what my partner and I had must never be let go — because if it led to “great transformation” and brought a child into the world, it had to be protected at all costs.

Another woman I don’t know at all commented publicly, urging us to be “100% sure we’ve tried absolutely everything before separating,” then launched into a long description of how she and her husband survived their own crises and came out stronger.

The conscious surface of these messages might seem kind: they’re trying to help, to save, to connect. But underneath, there is often a strong shadow of superiority, control, and a desire to preserve their own worldview. A subtle implication that I must not know what I’m doing. That I am making a mistake. That they know better.

And the truth is: they don’t know me. They don’t know what we’ve already faced and overcome. They don’t know the work we’ve done — the depth of it, the spiritual layers, the heartbreak, the love, the growth. They don’t know how much we’ve talked, how much we’ve tried, how conscious this choice has been.

To imply otherwise — that we’re just being impulsive or weak — is not just patronizing. It’s hurtful.

I know that when we speak about divorce or separation, it can activate something in others. A fear. A memory. A past wound. A belief about what “success” is. And so, in response to their own inner noise, people speak — trying to soothe themselves by imposing their worldview onto someone else’s story.

This isn’t real support. This is projection. And the most dangerous part is that it comes dressed as wisdom. There’s a common pattern I’ve noticed: People who’ve survived hard things in their own relationships often assume that survival itself is the highest path. That if they endured, everyone else should too. That their choice is the benchmark of maturity, of love, of what’s "right."

But our separation doesn’t feel like failure. It doesn’t feel like something broken. It feels like evolution. Like liberation. Like a conscious shift into deeper wholeness — for both of us.

And what hurts is not a different path choice. It’s the distortion. It’s being seen through a lens that twists your truth, that assumes you are lost when you’re actually found, that treats your sovereignty as a cry for help. Being seen that way doesn’t feel good. It doesn’t feel loving. It feels invasive.

This is not to say we shouldn’t share our own experiences. Sometimes sharing your story can be healing, connecting, and even transformative — for both sides. But how it's shared is key.

When someone is in the midst of transformation, especially one they’ve described as empowered, gentle, or even joyful, and another person projects onto it their own unprocessed pain or shame-based belief system, it distorts the moment. It takes the person being witnessed and reshapes them into a character in the observer’s unresolved story.

Suddenly, we’re not seen. We’re not heard. We’re cast into a narrative we didn’t choose and one that really is not about us. And that feels hurtful.

So please, if you feel called to share, ask yourself first:

Work through any inner impurity or shadow that might be pushing you to give unsolicited “teachings.” Let those parts soften. Let them be seen by you first, before they spill out onto someone else.

Meet the shadow. What part of you feels compelled to step in and “correct” someone else’s truth? What discomfort might you be trying to soothe by fixing others?

Sometimes, those who claim to have “saved” their relationship and now feel the urge to preach to others are still running from the parts of their own relationship that feel off. It can be easier to project wisdom outward than to face quiet dissatisfaction within.

So when you do choose to share, let it come from a clean, humble place. And add a caveat: "This might be completely irrelevant to what you're going through, but I just felt like sharing my experience." That simple sentence can transform your story into an offering, not a correction. 

Because that’s the truth. It might be irrelevant.

And you shouldn't care if what you share resonates or not — if you do, you are still sharing from a place of control and unresolved trauma, not from a place of connection. And if it does resonate, they will connect with your words even better when they are offered and not imposed. 

I have a deep issue with anyone who tries to claim absolute truth. Life is far too nuanced, too complex, too alive for that. There are countless ways to live, to love, to separate, to evolve.

What is medicine for one person may be poison to another.

But once you accept the vast, wild, contradictory beauty of life, only then can you actually see people. Without projection. Without control. Without fear. And what you see then is beautiful — in all its mess, chaos, and love.