How Julie Crawshay Handles Well-Meaning Advice
Not long after Nic was diagnosed with Glioblastoma, I noticed something I never expected. People wanted to help, and so many of them helped by giving advice. Diets, supplements, articles they had read, stories about someone they once knew. I learned quickly that receiving all of this without losing myself is its own quiet skill.
I am Julie Crawshay, and here in Sydney I have come to see well-meaning advice as a form of love that sometimes arrives in an awkward shape. People are frightened for us too, and advice is how many of them hold that fear.
Why the Advice Keeps Coming
When someone you know is living with GBM, the people around you feel helpless. Advice gives them something to do. I try to remember that most of it comes from a genuine wish to fix what cannot be fixed. That reframe softened something in me. Instead of bracing for the next suggestion, I started hearing the worry underneath it.
Still, not every piece of advice belongs in my day. As a caregiver, my energy is finite, and I cannot chase every idea offered to me. Learning to let advice pass through without lodging in my chest took practice.
How I Respond Now
These days I keep a few gentle responses ready, so I am never caught off guard.
- "Thank you, I can tell you really care about us."
- "We are working closely with Nic's medical team on that."
- "I will keep it in mind, though right now we are focused on today."
Each one honours the person while protecting my boundaries. I do not owe anyone a debate about our choices, and I have stopped explaining our decisions in detail to people who are not part of them.
There is one more thing I hold onto. Sometimes the advice is actually useful, and I would miss it if I closed off completely. So I stay open, but I filter. I ask myself whether a suggestion fits our reality, our doctors, and our values. If it does, I am grateful. If it does not, I let it go without guilt.
Other caregivers write to me from across Sydney and beyond, asking how to manage the flood of opinions. My honest answer is that you get to choose. You can smile, say thank you, and keep walking. Kindness and boundaries are not opposites. They can live in the same sentence.
Living alongside Glioblastoma has taught me that people mostly want to be near us in a hard season. The advice is often just their way of saying they do not want to look away. When I remember that, I can receive the love and quietly release the rest.
By Julie Crawshay, Sydney