They Are Not Yours to Fix
I’ve always been a solution-oriented person. My brain works like a little problem-solving machine: see a problem → fix the problem. It’s instinctive, like breathing. Somewhere along the way, that habit leaked into my relationships.
If a friend texts me, “Hey, I’m going through something,” I’m already halfway through mentally drafting a step-by-step action plan before they even finish explaining. If a stranger at the grocery store starts talking about their bad day, I catch myself scanning for solutions, as if I were some emotional mechanic with a sign that says “Open 24/7” hanging over my head.
At first, I thought this was a good thing. Isn’t helping people a form of kindness? Isn’t it a sign of empathy? But over time, I started to notice something unsettling: I was always on. Always giving. Always offering. And yet… I was tired. Bone-deep tired.
The Day I Broke
One day, I hit a wall. Not physically, mentally. I was exhausted, not from lack of sleep, but from carrying so much for so many. People came to me with their problems because that was my place in their lives: the fixer. No one asked about my problems, not because they didn’t care, but because they assumed I didn’t have any. Or maybe they thought I had it all figured out.
That day, I sat with my head in my hands and asked myself: Why do I do this? Why do I feel this relentless need to fix things, even when they’re not mine to fix? Is it empathy? A leftover coping mechanism from childhood? Or just part of who I am?
I still don’t have a perfect answer. But I do know this: constantly stepping in to solve people’s problems will drain you, emotionally, physically, and mentally.
When Fixing Becomes a Problem
The truth I didn’t want to face was this: my constant urge to fix often pulled me into situations I didn’t belong in. I’d throw myself into solving someone else’s crisis, pouring in my time, energy, and focus, only to realise days later that my own needs were still sitting untouched. Sometimes, it was even worse: the person I helped didn’t think I’d done enough.
It’s rarely malicious. It’s just human nature; if the well is always full, people will keep drawing from it. But one day, you look down and realise it’s dry. Completely empty.
I’ll never forget the time a friend had an emergency, and I simply couldn’t show up. I was already drowning in my own challenges. I thought they would understand, but instead, they were frustrated. And it stung. The one time I couldn’t be there, I went from trusted friend to silent villain. That’s when I realised the “fixer” role I’d taken on came with unspoken expectations, and when I couldn’t meet them, resentment seeped in… on both sides.
Not long after, I quietly pulled back. I stopped calling to “check in” because I knew check-ins often turned into problem-solving sessions, and fixer-Timileyin would automatically clock in for duty. Instead, I limited my calls to simple updates… or, more often, I just kept to myself.
Why They Are Not Yours to Fix
Helping others isn’t bad. I still find it deeply fulfilling. But I’ve learned that jumping in every single time isn’t always the kindest choice, not for them, and not for me.
Some people will never ask about your struggles. Not because they’re cruel, but because they’re focused on their own. And when you fix everything for someone, they can become dependent. They stop flexing their own problem-solving muscles because they know you’ll do it for them.
The truth is, you are not the world’s on-call mechanic or emotional doctor. Even therapists, whose job is literally to help, have therapists of their own.
And that’s when I had to start asking myself: If I’m always unburdening everyone else, who’s unburdening me?
What Therapy Taught Me
Therapy was a turning point. If you, like me, have a fixer’s heart, boundaries aren’t optional; they’re survival. Without them, you will lose yourself in the tide of other people’s needs.
Here’s what I’ve learned:
Check your reserves first. Before saying yes, I ask myself, Do I have the emotional and physical energy for this? If the answer is no, it stays no, even if my instinct says yes.
Examine your motives. Sometimes I helped because it made me feel good, not necessarily because it was best for them. When the thank-you didn’t come, resentment followed. That’s when I realised I was feeding my ego, not my compassion.
Build a replenishing circle. I now surround myself with people who see me as a whole person, someone who also needs care. I’ve learned to share my own struggles, even though it’s uncomfortable. It reminds both of us that I don’t always have it all together.
Practice saying no. I used to think “no” meant I was letting someone down. Now I see “no” as telling the truth about my capacity. My go-to line is: “I wish I could help, but I can’t take this on right now.”
The Balance
Being a fixer isn’t a flaw. When used wisely, it’s a gift; it means you’re empathetic, resourceful, and willing to stand with people in their hardest moments. But the key is balance.
I’ve had to accept that if I’m always holding up the world for others, my own world will eventually collapse from neglect. So now, I help where I can, but I remind myself that I deserve rest, care, and replenishment, too.
And here’s the raw truth: setting boundaries will not always be received well. Some people will call you selfish. Some will get annoyed. And yes, you may lose your place in the lives of people who only valued you as their fixer. But you will gain something far more valuable: yourself.
Because at the end of the day, you can’t give what you don’t have.