I am a fixer.
Give me a problem and approximately twelve minutes, and I will have:
A theory.
A plan.
A backup plan.
A text drafted.
Three possible explanations.
A Google search history that would concern you.
And, if necessary, a small committee assembled.
For a long time, I thought this was one of my better qualities.
Sometimes it is.
I’m resourceful.
I like solving problems.
I like helping people.
I don’t enjoy sitting around waiting for something to magically improve when there’s something I can actually do.
But I’ve learned something about myself:
Sometimes I don’t rush to fix things because they need fixing.
I rush to fix them because I can’t tolerate how it feels when they’re unresolved.
That’s different.
Uncertainty makes me want answers.
Conflict makes me want resolution.
Someone’s disappointment makes me want reassurance.
Someone else’s struggle makes me want a solution.
And if I can just fix it, I don’t have to sit inside the uncomfortable part.
Except life contains an awful lot of things I cannot fix.
And some things I could fix aren’t actually mine to fix.
So I’m learning to wait.
Observe.
Pray.
Let people handle their own lives.
Let situations unfold.
And occasionally tolerate the deeply offensive experience of not knowing what happens next.
Here are ten things I no longer rush to fix.
1. Someone Being Upset With Me
This one has historically felt like a five-alarm fire.
Someone is upset.
We need to talk.
Immediately.
Preferably until everyone feels completely understood, reassured, emotionally regulated, and ready to resume normal programming.
I don’t like relational tension.
But I’m learning that someone being upset with me isn’t necessarily an emergency.
Maybe I did something wrong.
If so, I can own it.
Maybe I owe an apology.
I can give one.
Maybe there’s a misunderstanding worth clearing up.
We can talk.
But sometimes the other person simply needs time.
And sometimes they’re allowed to be upset with me.
That’s uncomfortable.
It is also survivable.
I don’t have to force immediate reconciliation just because unresolved tension makes me anxious.
2. Other People’s Problems
I still want to help.
I hope I always do.
But I’ve learned that helping and taking over aren’t the same thing.
Sometimes someone tells me about a problem because they need support.
Not a solution.
Not a loan.
Not a rescue mission.
Not my carefully prepared six-point strategy.
Sometimes they just need:
“That sounds really hard. I’m sorry.”
And sometimes they need to solve it themselves.
There are lessons people learn by working through their own problems that I can accidentally steal from them when I constantly intervene.
I’m trying to ask more often:
“Do you want help solving this, or do you just need me to listen?”
Apparently this is preferable to immediately assuming the position of Chief Operating Officer of Someone Else’s Crisis.
3. What Someone Thinks About Me
This is a big one.
If someone misunderstands me, my instinct is to explain.
If someone believes something inaccurate, I want to correct it.
If someone has reduced me to something I’ve done in the past, I want to present evidence of growth.
I want context entered into the record.
Exhibits A through G.
Witness testimony.
Perhaps a closing argument.
But I am slowly accepting that I cannot manage every version of me that exists inside someone else’s mind.
I can live honestly.
I can correct misinformation when it actually matters.
I can apologize when I’ve done wrong.
I can behave differently.
But I cannot force another person to update their opinion.
My life has to become the explanation I’m tired of giving.
4. Every Uncomfortable Feeling
Sadness does not always require a solution.
Neither does anxiety.
Or loneliness.
Or disappointment.
Or guilt.
Or anger.
Sometimes feelings are telling me something important.
Sometimes they’re reactions that will pass.
Sometimes I need to change something.
Sometimes I need to do absolutely nothing.
This is revolutionary information for someone whose nervous system occasionally treats discomfort like an evacuation order.
I can feel anxious without immediately seeking reassurance.
I can feel rejected without chasing someone.
I can feel angry without sending anything.
I can feel sad without deciding something has gone terribly wrong.
A feeling can be real without becoming an assignment.
Sometimes I need to feel it and let it move through.
5. Silence
Silence used to make me want to fill it.
Someone doesn’t respond?
Reach out.
A conversation feels unresolved?
Restart it.
Someone pulls away?
Close the distance.
I wanted to know what silence meant.
Were they angry?
Done?
Thinking?
Busy?
Waiting for me?
And perhaps if I asked the right question, sent the right message, or said the right thing, I could get an answer.
Now I’m trying to let silence be silent.
If someone needs space, I can give it.
If someone wants to communicate, they can.
If I genuinely need clarity, I can ask once.
But I don’t have to repeatedly knock on a door simply because I dislike standing outside it.
Sometimes silence isn’t a puzzle I’ve been assigned to solve.
6. Consequences Someone Else Created
This one is hard when I love the person.
I don’t like watching people struggle.
Especially when I can see exactly how I could make the struggle easier.
But sometimes the difficulty someone is experiencing is connected to choices they’ve made.
And if I continually step in to absorb the consequences, I may be helping them avoid the very thing that could teach them something.
That doesn’t mean becoming cold.
It doesn’t mean withholding help just to teach somebody a lesson.
And it certainly doesn’t mean abandoning someone who is genuinely in danger.
It simply means recognizing that love and rescue are not synonyms.
Sometimes I can love someone while allowing them to carry what belongs to them.
7. A Bad Day
I used to be remarkably skilled at turning a bad morning into a referendum on my entire life.
Something goes wrong.
I’m irritated.
Then I’m irritated that I’m irritated.
Then I’m disappointed because I was supposed to have a productive day.
Then I decide the day is ruined.
Then somehow by 4:00 p.m. I’m evaluating my personality, future, relationships, spiritual maturity, and overall trajectory as a human being.
All because Tuesday started badly.
I’m learning to let a bad hour be a bad hour.
Maybe I need lunch.
Maybe I need a nap.
Maybe I need to get outside.
Maybe I need to start over at 2:37 in the afternoon.
I don’t have to fix the entire day.
I just need to stop making the next hour pay for the last one.
8. Every Problem in a Relationship
Some things need conversations.
Absolutely.
But I’ve also learned that relationships contain ordinary friction.
Someone is tired.
Someone speaks sharply.
Someone forgets something.
Someone gets on someone else’s nerves.
Someone doesn’t respond exactly the way I hoped.
Not every irritation reveals a deeper relational problem.
Not everything needs to be processed.
Sometimes the mature response is not:
“We need to talk about what happened earlier.”
Sometimes it’s:
“Well, that was annoying.”
And then you unload the dishwasher.
There is a difference between avoiding important conversations and turning every uncomfortable interaction into one.
I’m learning it.
Slowly.
9. Myself
This might be the biggest one.
I’ve spent a lot of time treating myself like an ongoing renovation project.
What’s wrong?
What needs healing?
What pattern am I repeating?
What do I need to improve?
Why did I react that way?
Where did that come from?
What does this say about me?
Self-awareness has been incredibly valuable.
Therapy has been valuable.
Reflection has been valuable.
Growth matters to me.
But I don’t want to spend the rest of my life standing over myself with a clipboard.
There will always be something I could improve.
I can work on myself without treating myself like something fundamentally defective.
Sometimes I don’t need to fix myself.
Sometimes I need to feed myself.
Rest.
Laugh.
Read.
Pray.
Take a bath.
Play with my dogs.
Go somewhere.
Do something creative.
Live.
I am a person to care for, not merely a project to complete.
10. Things I’ve Already Given to God
I am excellent at surrender.
I give something to God.
“Lord, I trust You with this.”
And then approximately eleven minutes later:
“Just checking in.”
By bedtime, I have reclaimed full operational control.
Apparently my definition of surrender has occasionally been:
God can handle it, but I will remain available in a consulting capacity.
I’m trying to stop doing that.
If I’ve prayed…
If I’ve done what actually belongs to me…
If there isn’t another responsible action I need to take…
Then perhaps my next act of faith is doing nothing.
Not because I don’t care.
Because I do.
Not because the outcome doesn’t matter.
Because it matters tremendously.
But because there comes a point when my continued interference isn’t faithfulness.
It’s anxiety trying to disguise itself as responsibility.
Some things aren’t mine to fix because they were never mine to control.
I’ve Learned That Urgency Can Be Deceptive
This might be the thread connecting all ten.
When something makes me uncomfortable, my brain wants relief.
Now.
Fix the misunderstanding.
Resolve the conflict.
Help the person.
Get the answer.
Stop the feeling.
Break the silence.
Control the outcome.
Make everything okay again.
But urgency isn’t always wisdom.
Sometimes the wisest thing I can do is wait twenty-four hours.
Sometimes it’s sleep.
Sometimes it’s pray.
Sometimes it’s gather more information.
Sometimes it’s allow another person to make the next move.
Sometimes it’s simply sit in the discomfort long enough to discover that I can survive it.
And sometimes, while I’m waiting, the thing I desperately wanted to fix…
fixes itself.
Or changes.
Or stops mattering.
Or reveals that the solution was never mine to provide.
This Doesn’t Mean I’ve Stopped Fixing Things
I still believe in action.
If I’ve hurt someone, I want to repair it.
If there’s a problem I am responsible for, I want to address it.
If someone genuinely needs my help and I can provide it, I want to show up.
If something in my life needs changing, I don’t want to use “acceptance” as an excuse to avoid doing the work.
There are things that are mine.
And I want to steward them well.
The difference is that I’m trying to stop assuming everything that makes me uncomfortable belongs in that category.
That’s the question I’m learning to ask:
Is this mine to fix?
Not:
Can I fix it?
Not:
Would I feel better if it were fixed?
Not:
Do I have an opinion about how it should be fixed?
But:
Is it mine?
Final Thought
There is a peculiar kind of freedom in realizing that not every loose end needs my hands on it.
Some conversations can remain unfinished tonight.
Some people can misunderstand me.
Some feelings can exist.
Some relationships can have tension.
Some people can solve their own problems.
Some consequences can belong to the person who created them.
Some bad days can simply be bad days.
Some silence can remain silent.
And some things can stay completely outside my control without requiring me to stand nearby supervising them.
I’m still a fixer.
I don’t think that’s entirely a bad thing.
But I’m trying to become a more discerning one.
I want to fix what is mine.
Repair what I’ve damaged.
Change what needs changing.
Help where help is appropriate.
Speak when speaking is necessary.
And then develop enough faith, patience, and emotional maturity to leave the rest alone.
Because I’m learning that not fixing something isn’t always neglect.
Sometimes it’s a boundary.
Sometimes it’s wisdom.
Sometimes it’s trust.
And sometimes…
it’s finally realizing there was never anything I was supposed to do.
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