Who is the most memorable—and eminent—bullshit advice giver you’ve encountered in your life? I’ve met many, but the one who stands out is my grandmother—from my father’s side. And no, she wasn’t a bad person. In fact, I don’t recall a single time when she wasn’t nice to me. Still, she could be nerve-racking.

Don’t get me wrong—I loved my grandma. Yet when I think of bullshit advice, I think of her. I can’t help it, and it makes me smile.

I remember a conversation when both of my grandparents were eager to condense all their knowledge about entrepreneurship into one pearl of wisdom they felt compelled to impose on me: “Everybody who starts a business eventually goes bankrupt.”

Of course, I didn’t believe a word they said. I even tried to convince them otherwise by pointing out flaws in their argument. But they had a mental list of people that proved—at least to them—they were right. Resistance seemed futile.

Realistically speaking, I got exactly what I should have expected. After all, it was my grandmother who strongly advised me to become a priest. Her reasoning was impeccable: she knew for a fact that priests only work on Sundays. And no, she wasn’t kidding—she was dead serious. Literally dead serious, I might add, because she was a declared atheist who didn’t believe in life after death or anything else to do with religion.

Then again, my grandma did believe that all the Protestants in her neighborhood conspired against the Catholics. And—in her half-baked opinion—she knew what she was talking about, since her husband, my grandfather, was a Protestant.

Luckily, when it came to my grandmother, my grandfather’s tolerance and equanimity were high. I still remember him responding to her babbling: “You’re rarely right, but this time you’re wrong.” For him, that day was just another day of the week.

We all get it: useless, often unsolicited advice from people who don’t understand what we go through, what we aim for, or what we are about. Advice that doesn’t apply to our situation or align with our values and aspirations. Advice that might be well-meaning but just isn’t well-done, making it downright impossible to well-receive.

Is there a ‘recipe’ for handling this kind of advice? Well, yes. When I receive useless advice that triggers me in some way, I know I’m taking the advice-giver too seriously. So, I think of my grandmother. I couldn’t take her seriously—and I didn’t need to in order to love her. Associating the person in front of me with my grandmother helps me not take them seriously, while still maintaining a loving state of mind.

When you receive useless advice, refrain from taking the advice-giver seriously. Instead, focus on thoughts that make you smile and help you reach a loving state—it will make setting healthy boundaries so much easier.