The Fixers Trap

Some of us are born with big hearts and soft edges — the kind of women who see the best in everyone. The kind who can spot potential in a puddle of chaos.

We’re the fixers. The nurturers. The “I can love him enough to heal him” crowd.

We meet a man with a storm behind his eyes, and instead of grabbing an umbrella, we start building a roof for him. We think we can handle the rain because we’ve survived it before. And for a while, it feels like purpose. We convince ourselves we’re being compassionate. Loyal. Christlike.

But the truth? Sometimes what we call love is really rescue in disguise.

And rescuing feels good — until it doesn’t.

Because broken men who don’t want to heal will eventually drag you into their storm. You can patch holes, clean up the debris, even hold the umbrella over both of you — but eventually, the wind will take it. And you’ll realize the one who needed saving… was you.

I’ve lived this cycle.

Loved it. Hated it. Swore I was done — and then found myself right back in it.

Every fixer knows the pattern:

You find someone lost.

You pour yourself out trying to light their path.

They get comfortable in your glow… and you burn out.

The thing about being a fixer is, we forget that broken isn’t always bad — but staying broken by choice is. Healing isn’t something you can do for someone. It’s something they have to want for themselves.

Here’s the wisdom I’ve learned the hard way:

You can’t fix people who like being broken.

You can’t save someone who confuses your love with a life raft.

And you can’t call it God’s plan when it’s really your own need to feel needed.

Because the truth is, you’re not called to be someone’s savior. You already have one.

The fix?

Boundaries. Prayer. And remembering that God is enough — even when you’re not.

When you finally stop trying to fill the emptiness with projects disguised as people, you make space for God to fill it with peace.

Because fixing isn’t love.

Healing together — with Him at the center — is.