When Loving Advice Doesn’t Fit Your Life Anymore

I found a journal entry from six years ago. The week before I left my hometown again to study music therapy.

In case you’re not familiar with my story – I was an accountant for 5 years. And I am Asian. Imagine the shock my parents experienced when I told them I was gonna give up my accounting career and become a music therapist.

To this day, they still hope that I’ll consider my CPA qualification as a plan B.

It’s been six years.

They are still asking about my career stability.

The conversation we keep having

“You should look for something more stable. What if the NDIS changes again?”

“But what about security? A proper job with benefits?”

“Maybe you could do music therapy part-time and get a real job?”

Six years. Same script. Different specifics.

Here’s what I’ve realised: they’re not wrong to worry. They’re loving me the best way they know how.

But they’re giving me advice for a world that doesn’t exist anymore.

The economy was different back then. My parents worked hard. In fact, my dad worked for the government for most of his life.

So when they look at my path – leaving a CPA qualification, self-employment, flexible hours, no corporate structure – they see risk. They see uncertainty.

And I define risk very differently – I absolutely could not imagine sitting in a cubicle punching figures all day for the rest of my life.

Not to mention that a “fixed” salary doesn’t equal a stable career.

The myth of stability

The “stable career” they’re advising me toward? It barely exists.

I left accounting in 2019. My former colleagues? Half have changed careers. The rest are dealing with AI automation, restructures, burnout.

People don’t stay in the industry they studied for these days. The average person changes careers multiple times. Corporate jobs get restructured, outsourced, made redundant.

But my parents’ generation experienced something different. One qualification = one career = stability. That was real for them.

So when they give me advice, they’re operating from outdated data.

Outdated data = advice that doesn’t fit.

Love doesn’t equal good advice

It took me some time to learn this: people can love you deeply, want the best for you, and their advice will still be wrong for you.

Not because they’re malicious. Because they’re solving for their context, not yours.

My parents want me to have what they didn’t: stability, security, a “proper career.”

But I already have what matters to me: autonomy, meaning, flexibility, work that helps people.

For me, that looks like working 1:1 with adults online — using music intentionally to support emotional regulation, stress, and self-trust.

If you’re curious, this is the work I do now: online 1:1 music therapy.

Their advice is trying to fix a gap that doesn’t exist in my life.

What that journal entry taught me

I went back and read the rest of that entry.

“I’m terrified. But staying in accounting feels like dying slowly. I’d rather risk failing at something I care about than succeed at something that empties me.”

Six years later? I haven’t failed. I’ve built a practice. I help people. I have autonomy. I don’t dread Mondays.

But my parents still worry. Still ask about stability.

Because their fear is louder than my evidence.

That’s when I understood: their advice isn’t about my actual life. It’s about their unhealed past, and coloured lenses to see the world.

The advice filter

Here’s what I ask now before taking anyone’s advice:

1. What are they solving for?

My parents are solving for stability because they didn’t have it.

I’m solving for meaning and autonomy.

Different problem = different solution.

2. What world are they operating from?

Their world: one degree = one career = stability.

My world: multiple pivots, portfolio careers, value alignment over security.

Mismatched framework = misaligned advice.

3. What do they value that I don’t?

They value traditional security, corporate structure, predictable income.

I value autonomy, meaningful work, flexibility, time.

Neither is wrong. But if we value different things, their “best advice” won’t serve me.

4. Is this advice for me, or for their younger self?

“Get the stable job” = “I wish I’d had stability.”

“Don’t take risks” = “I took risks and got hurt.”

“Don’t leave accounting” = “I never had the privilege to choose meaningful work.”

Their advice is healing their past, not building your future.

Gratitude without obedience

I’ve learnt to receive their advice with gratitude without feeling obligated to follow it.

“Thank you for caring. I know you want what’s best for me.”

Then, privately: “But this isn’t my path.”

I can appreciate their love without adopting their fears.

I can respect their experience without being bound by their conclusions.

Six years ago, I made a choice they didn’t understand.

Six years later, I’d make it again. Every time.

Who to actually take advice from

Not everyone’s opinion deserves equal weight.

Take advice from people who:

✓ Have what you want (not what sounds good in theory)

✓ Understand your context (the world changes—seek current navigators)

✓ Value what you value (time vs. money, meaning vs. status, etc.)

✓ Want for you what you want for yourself (not what they wish they’d had)

✓ Have updated their framework (2025 job market ≠ 1995 job market)

Who can’t advise you well (even though they love you)

✗ People still healing from their own scars

✗ People operating from outdated frameworks

✗ People who value different things than you do

✗ People projecting their regrets onto your choices

None of this makes them bad. It makes their advice misaligned.

Your turn

Whose advice are you following that might not actually fit your life?

Ask yourself:

• What are they solving for? (Is that your problem?)
• What do they value? (Is that what you value?)
• What world are they operating from? (Is that still your world?)
• Do they have what you want? (Or are they advising from theory?)
• Is this advice for you, or for their younger self?

The permission you need

You can love people deeply and still not follow their advice.

You can respect their experience and still choose differently.

You can appreciate their concern and still trust your own judgment.

Love doesn’t obligate obedience. Especially when their advice doesn’t fit your context, your values, or your actual life.

Take advice from people who have what you want, value what you value, and understand the world you’re actually navigating.

Everyone else? Thank them for caring. Then make your own choice.

Six years ago, I wrote: “I’d rather risk failing at something I care about than succeed at something that empties me.”

Still true. Maybe even more true now.

Your life. Your values. Your call.