Insert Self, Withdraw Quickly

(How to wreck a relationship in three helpful steps or less.)

Sounds like bad sex advice, right?
Relax. This isn’t that kind of story.

What I’m talking about is sticking your big ol’ helpful nose in where it doesn’t belong—and then realizing way too late that you shoulda just sat this one out and watched from the bleachers with popcorn and a pair of binoculars.

We’ve all done it.
One minute you’re offering “a little help” and the next thing you know you’re elbows-deep in somebody else’s emotional septic tank. Happens with friends. Spouses. Coworkers. Random folks at Costco.

Maybe it’s me. Hell, I once tried explaining boundaries to my dog. He just yawned in my face.

We tell ourselves it’s out of concern.
“We’re just trying to help.”
Yeah, and I stop by Krispy Kreme just to make sure the glaze is up to par—but only when the HOT light is on.

Let’s be honest:
We do it because we know better.
Or we think we do.
We could do it faster, cheaper, cleaner, smarter. We’re efficient. We’re wise. We’ve got a spreadsheet and a Bluetooth headset. Move over, amateurs—Daddy’s home.

Wrong.

Here’s some free advice from someone who’s face-planted more than once while trying to “help”: Don’t. Do. It.
Even if they ask you—especially if they ask you—find an escape hatch:

• Claim you’ve got COVID.

• Say your dog has a therapy appointment.

• Pretend your internet’s down.

• Do literally anything but jump into their mess.

Because once you’re in, the exit is murky.

Which brings us to everyone’s least favorite part: trying to wriggle out.

Attempted Withdrawal.
Retraction—like backing up a trailer with everybody watching.
Hit Undo. Spoiler: It never works.
Push the big red Never Mind button… like it’s gonna save you. (It won’t.)

You’ve inserted yourself, champ. Made your declaration. Taken over the whiteboard. And now everyone’s quietly (or loudly) thinking you’re a meddling jackass.

The worst part?
You meant well.
But as they say, the road to hell is paved with good intentions.
And trust me, traffic on that road moves fast.

After all is said and done, here’s the real question you need to ask yourself:
Was it for them… or was it for you?

Be honest.
Most of the time, it’s for you.
It’s about feeling helpful, being seen as wise, or worse—controlling the outcome.
That’s not kindness. That’s ego dressed up like Mother Teresa.

And when it blows up in your face—which it will—you don’t get to sulk. You don’t get to cry. You take the hit, nod like a gentleman, and exit with whatever friendship and dignity you’ve got left.

Ask me how I know.
I had a friend once ask for my “expertise.”
He wanted my input, my thoughts, my brutal honesty.
I said, “Are you sure?”
He said, “Absolutely.”
Big mistake.

I inserted myself with all the grace of a dump truck in a car wash. Laid it all out—with truth, logic, and experience. Figured we were good enough friends that honesty wouldn’t trigger DEFCON 1.

Yeah, about that…

Two days later I see one of those “not naming names but you know who you are” Facebook statuses:
“Some people just don’t know how to be supportive… 😔”

I got unfriended faster than a Jehovah’s Witness at a biker bar.

Insert self? Easy.
Withdraw gracefully? Good luck.

Best case, you leave with a smile and a halfway decent story.

The trick isn’t avoiding disaster. It’s knowing when to crack a joke, wave, and exit before you’re left holding the bag. That, my friend, is The Condition.

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