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to fix or not to fix, that is the question

I cannot fix others.

It took me a very long time to understand that, maybe longer to stop trying. I love people. I especially love my people, my tribe of important others in my life. When they would come to me, bearing their problems and dilemmas all packaged nicely in matching baggage, I would set to work. I would unpack and sort, arrange and label, find solutions and give opinions. I would fix.

I have this uncanny ability to see all sides of an issue. It’s where my middle-of-the-road approach to life was birthed. From this vantage point, I am given a full 360 degrees of reasons and choices, hows and whys, the nuts and bolts of issues and solutions. And I was only too happy to share this information. Why?

Because it made me feel wanted, necessary, needed. Inside of a thought life that was constantly questioning my worth and value, trying to find where, or even if, I had a place in others lives, I knew for that moment in time I was important to them. If I could only fix their problems, I would be the hero for that moment in time. And all heroes are loved, right? All heroes are given cherished spots of honor in the lives of those they help, right?

I mean, let’s just get down to the bottom of this shit show. I wasn’t interested in making others whole as much as I was interested in making me whole. Every answer that came under the guise of healing others was because I so desperately needed healing myself. Every fix that was given was a fix I was jonesing for in myself. Every solution wrapped in love was aching for that love to be returned.

I was a walking, talking mess looking to problem shoot other people’s messes. How’s that for irony?

Don’t get me wrong. At the time, I was doing all of this from a place of sincerity and compassion. I did want to help. I did want to fix. I had no idea why I felt compelled to be a fixer. That answer would come later. I just knew that hearts were hurting and I had wisdom that could change that.

I still do. But, I’ve learned on the road to here that just because I have something doesn’t mean others want it. I cannot change people. Change is an inside job, a personal endeavor, that we must each walk through alone. Now, I keep quiet. I wait to be asked. I weigh my thoughts before letting them just roll off my tongue.

It doesn’t mean that I don’t care. I do, very much so. It pains me to see others walking a path that is unnecessarily hard. I want to jump in and fix away! Seriously. But, I’ve also learned that a true path to lasting freedom comes to those who do the hard work themselves.

The beautiful part of this lesson was learning (still) that my worth and value is not based in what I have or do or give to others; that I am loved all the time, not just for what I bring to the table; that when I stopped trying to change others, I was able to focus on my own needs, and change for myself came easily; and, finally, that silence really is golden for there is a lot that is being said internally when it is quiet externally.











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