The Advice I Never Knew I Needed

I am the youngest of four, the youngest cousin on one side of the family, and somewhere in the middle on the other. I am generally a reserved person, rather than exuding in-your-face volume, and have a tendency to make choices that are a little off the beaten path. I have realized that a combination of these things has made me the recipient of a lot of advice over the years.

People love to give advice. I mean, I love to give advice. I love to read advice columns, which is the type of thing I open in a separate window so that in case my husband pops in while i’m online, I can close it and make it look like I am seriously reading news or working on writing instead.

Women get advice ALL the time. As girls we are advised to quiet down, be more calm, be understanding, let someone else go first, think of another person’s feelings, etc. As we get older, we are advised to sit like a young lady, not draw attention to oneself, and the barrage really never stops — work hard in your career before you settle down and get married, have children before your biological clock stops ticking, eat/avoid certain foods so that your baby is the next Einstein, don’t work too hard in your career otherwise you’ll damage your child’s psyche, don’t be too attached as a parent otherwise your career will suffer and your worth as a gainfully employed person will plummet, etc. And that’s all before you turn 35.

Suffice it to say that most women are good at tuning out the useless advice, though in some strange paradox we are still bothered by it, and are constantly in a state of comparison, to our idealized self and to others.

Occasionally though, we come across some real wisdom that just pops out to you, that creates a ripple in your mind. Those pieces speak to us. One of mine happened a few years ago, from a lovely friend, an older woman with whom I do some volunteer work. We were sitting in the outer office of a city official, where several of us had been invited to sit in on their board meeting. I came in and sat down next to her, on the last cushioned chair. A few more not-as-cushy chairs were empty.

The door opened and two older women walked in (between the age of me and my friend). Out of habit, I started to get up out of my chair in case one of the other women wanted to sit there.

My friend’s hand immediately rested on my arm. “No, you are fine where you are. There are plenty of other places to sit. You have a space too.”

I sat back in my chair and looked over; she was still calmly reading her magazine. And soon we were called in for our meeting and so the day went on. But when I got home, I really thought about what she said and why it still sticks with me a few years later. I have a space too. As the youngest person, a girl, in an Indian-American household, you do a lot of getting up. Yes, you are taken care of and loved, but you are also expected to get up for elders, men, guests, family members, etc. You offer your seat to anyone else — saying “no, it’s okay, I’ll stand” or “I don’t mind sitting over here instead.” Even after I was married, same thing: “thanks, I’m fine here” (in the corner/away from the action). After I had kids, I sat near the exit, the aisle, the end of the table, eating early and not even sitting with the adults sometimes, because what if my kids needed to leave/sleep/poop/got loud?

I have a space too. I have been at events where literally everyone had a chair except me and no one noticed as I went to another room to drag a chair over so I could be at the table. At my own house.

I have a space too. And here I was, being given permission to sit in my chair, like the adult that I am, and not get up because I belong here too. It was such a simple thing, something that I’m almost ashamed to admit I didn’t do myself. I was so busy figuring out how I could best immediately run to fulfill someone else’s needs that I didn’t bother to think that I was entitled to my own.

And so now I sit a little more. I claim my space a little more, and I do it without feeling guilty or apologetic or anything else. And it turns out, the space was waiting for me all along.