I have a confession to make.

I am a fixer.
A hard-core fixer.

If you want something done, I’m your girl. I make sh** happen. When someone I care about is struggling—emotionally, professionally, logistically—my first instinct is to jump in and make it better. To take the problem off their plate. To solve it quickly so they don’t have to worry anymore. For a long time, I told myself this was kindness. Competence. Leadership. Love. But recently, I realized something deeper and more unsettling:
this urge to fix wasn’t just a habit—it was a compulsion. And it was tied to my sense of safety.

Where the Fixer Was Born

I grew up with a mother who had her own challenges. She lived with a disability and struggled to parent consistently. When things became overwhelming for her, they didn’t just feel hard, they often exploded into frustration, emotional intensity, and chaos. Very early on, I learned something that felt essential to survival:
If I could make sure she was okay, then I would be okay.

If I could anticipate problems.
If I could smooth things out.
If I could help her feel less overwhelmed.

That role—problem solver, emotional regulator, quiet fixer—kept me safe. And I got very good at it. I carried that skill with me into adulthood. Into relationships. Into leadership. Into teams I cared deeply about. I prided myself on being the person who could handle things, resolve issues, and make problems disappear. What I didn’t realize was how exhausting that role had become—or how much it was costing everyone involved.

The Moment Something Shifted

It wasn’t until this past year, when my mother broke her hip and was in the long process of healing, that something finally clicked. I watched myself slip back into fixer mode—hovering, anticipating, offering solutions she hadn’t asked for. And then, slowly, I began to notice something else.

She didn’t actually need me to fix her.

She never really had.

She is a 77-year-old woman who has been solving problems her entire life. Navigating challenges. Making decisions. Adapting. Persisting. But I hadn’t been paying attention to that reality—because I was too busy managing my own anxiety. In trying to take away her problems, I wasn’t just protecting her. I was protecting myself from the discomfort of watching someone struggle. And underneath that realization was another, harder truth:
my fixing wasn’t always helpful—it was often depleting, frustrating, and quietly (or loudly) resentful.

What Fixing Actually Takes Away

This pattern didn’t just show up with my mother. It showed up with people I love. With colleagues. With team members. I thought I was doing them a service—lightening their load, offering solutions, being supportive. But what I was often doing instead was this:

• Taking away their agency
• Undermining their confidence in their own capacity
• Sending an unspoken message that I didn’t trust them to handle it

Even when intentions are loving, fixing can unintentionally communicate: You can’t do this without me. And that’s not the kind of relationship—or leadership—I want to cultivate.

Understanding the Fixer as a “Part”

The real shift came when, with the help of a therapist trained in Internal Family Systems (IFS), I began to understand this fixer not as a flaw—but as a part of me.

A part that formed early.
A part that worked tirelessly to keep me safe.
A part that deserved gratitude, not shame.

When I slowed down enough to listen, I could see her clearly:
young, vigilant, hyper-attuned, always scanning for problems to solve before they became dangerous. I thanked her—for everything she had done to protect me. For how hard she had worked. For how much responsibility she carried for so long.

And then I told her something she had never heard before:
I can take care of you now. You don’t have to do this anymore.

What surprised me most was how tired she was—and how willing she was to rest.

Practicing Not Fixing (Over and Over Again)

Insight alone wasn’t enough. I had to practice this in real time. Recently, someone very close to me was going through a genuinely difficult situation. Every part of me wanted to jump in—offer advice, suggest solutions, figure out the next steps.

And instead, I paused.

This is a highly capable, thoughtful person. Someone with deep wisdom and the ability to navigate challenges when given the space to do so. So I did something that felt radically unfamiliar.

I didn’t fix.
I didn’t advise.
I didn’t rescue.

I stayed present. I checked in. I listened. I asked gentle questions that helped them reflect rather than react. It was uncomfortable. I could feel the fixer part buzzing, urging me to step in.

But I didn’t.

And something remarkable happened.

This person noticed the difference. They felt supported—not managed. Trusted—not overshadowed. And they expressed deep appreciation for being met with presence rather than solutions.

That moment reinforced what I’m still learning: being with someone is often far more powerful than fixing them.

How to Catch Yourself in Fix-It Mode

Releasing the need to fix everything doesn’t mean abandoning care or concern. It means becoming more intentional about how we show up. Here are a few ways to notice when the fixer is taking the wheel—and what to do instead.

1. Notice the urgency.
   Fixing often feels rushed. Immediate. Pressing. That urgency is a clue.
2. Check your body.
   Are you tense? Activated? Anxious? Fixing is often about soothing your nervous system, not theirs.
3. Ask a simple question:
   Is this about their need—or my discomfort?
4. Pause before responding.
   Even a few breaths can create enough space to choose a different response.
5. Try presence instead of solutions.
   Listening. Reflecting back what you hear. Asking, “What feels most supportive right now?”

You don’t have to disappear. You just don’t have to take over.

The Freedom on the Other Side

Letting go of fixing has been both relieving and humbling. Relieving because I am less depleted, less resentful, less burdened by responsibility that was never truly mine. Humbling because I see now how capable the people around me actually are—when I stop stepping in front of their growth.

This practice aligns deeply with last week’s reflection on saying no without guilt. Fixing is often another way of saying yes when we mean no—yes to over-responsibility, yes to emotional labor, yes to roles we’ve outgrown. And it sets the stage for what comes next.

Next week’s blog, “Power Poses,” will explore what it looks like to inhabit our bodies with confidence and presence—standing grounded in our own strength rather than bracing for others.

When Not Fixing Feels Like You’re Doing Nothing

One of the hardest parts of releasing the fixer role is the fear that, without it, you’re not doing enough. Not fixing can feel passive. Indifferent. Even irresponsible. I certainly felt this way. For those of us who learned early that being helpful was how we stayed safe or connected, stepping back can create a surprising sense of emptiness. The body may feel unmoored. The mind may search for something to do to restore a sense of usefulness.

But not fixing is not the same as not caring. In fact, it often requires more presence, more patience, and more trust than jumping in with solutions. It asks us to tolerate uncertainty—to allow discomfort without rushing to make it go away. This is where real nervous-system healing happens.

Each time you resist the urge to fix, you teach your body that connection doesn’t depend on performance. That relationships can hold without constant intervention. That you are allowed to rest, even when someone you love is struggling. Over time, this practice builds a different kind of strength, not the strength of control, but the strength of grounded presence.

And that strength changes everything.

What I’m Loving This Week

Sound:
The sound of silence when someone is struggling, allowing space to listen, without filling it with solutions.

Practice:
Checking in with myself when I feel activated or a strong urge to fix. Asking: Where is this coming from? What does this part need right now?

Tool:
Internal Family Systems (IFS) or “parts” therapy with a licensed, trained mental health professional. Not everyone has access, but if you do, it can be a powerful way to understand and soften our automatic reactions.

Quote:

“Supporting someone does not require solving them.”

Song:
“Time” – Sarah McLachlan
A gentle reminder that everyone needs their own time and space to process what’s hard—nothing needs to be fixed in the moment.

A Gentle Invitation

This week, notice when the fixer shows up. Not to banish her—but to thank her, soothe her, and invite her to rest.

You don’t need to fix everything to be loving.
You don’t need to solve problems to be supportive.
Sometimes, the most powerful thing you can offer is your steady, compassionate presence.

And that is more than enough.