The Fixer
Who Holds You When You're the One Holding Everyone Else
I have been labeled as the fixer in most of my social and family circles. I do not remember when it started. Maybe it was always there. Maybe I was born with a wrench in one hand and a blueprint in the other, destined to spend my life putting out fires that I did not start.
I am the one who has to be the glue. The one who makes things happen or keeps them from falling apart. When a family dispute erupts, I act like Switzerland. I stay neutral. I listen to all the complaints and gripes from every side. I validate each person’s feelings without taking a side because taking a side means losing someone. I nod. I empathize. I defuse. And then I try to make a solution. Some compromise that leaves everyone a little unsatisfied but no one completely broken. I am the referee, the mediator, the one who keeps the peace so the family can sit at the same table for Thanksgiving.
When friends want to do something, I am the one who makes the plans. The group chat goes quiet until I say something. Where should we go? What time works? Who is bringing what? Does anyone have dietary restrictions? I coordinate the logistics. I track the RSVPs. I make sure everyone has what they need for the trip or the event to happen. And when something goes wrong, when someone cancels last minute or forgets to pack the thing they were supposed to bring, I am the one who scrambles to fix it. I am the safety net. The backup plan. The person who makes sure the show goes on even when half the cast is missing.
I guess it is just the middle child in me. The one who learned early that attention goes to the oldest and the youngest and the one in the middle has to earn their place by being useful. By being reliable. By being the one everyone can count on even when no one is counting on themselves.
I always help people with problems to the best of my abilities. That is just what I do. Someone needs advice? I listen. Someone needs a ride? I drive. Someone needs money? I give what I can. Someone needs a shoulder to cry on? Mine is available. 24/7. No questions asked. No judgment given.
If I do not have the answer, I will point you in the direction to get it. I know people. I know resources. I know how to find what you need even when you do not know how to ask for it. I am a connector, a problem solver, a fixer. That is my identity. That is my role. That is how I matter.
But here is the thing about being the fixer. You sometimes become the single point of failure. If you do not get it done, everything falls apart. The trip does not happen. The event gets cancelled. The family dispute escalates into a war. The friend who needed you stays broken because no one else knew how to help.
The pressure is immense. And it is invisible. No one sees the weight because no one is looking. They just assume you have it handled. They assume you will figure it out. They assume that because you always have, you always will.
This is the gift and curse of being a fixer. The gift is that you matter. You are needed. You make a difference in the lives of people you love. The curse is that you are needed. You are the one they call. The one they text. The one they expect to drop everything and show up. And if you do not, if you are tired or overwhelmed or just cannot, the disappointment is crushing. Not because they are mean. Because they have come to rely on you. And they do not know what to do without you.
But sometimes you have to ask. The question that no one else is asking. The question you are afraid to ask because asking it means admitting something you have spent your whole life denying.
Who fixes the fixer when they need help?
When I am falling apart, who catches me? When I cannot solve my own problems, who steps in? When I am the one who needs a ride, a shoulder, a solution, where do I turn?
The answer, most of the time, is no one.
I have built a life around being useful. Around being needed. Around being the person who holds everything together. And in doing so, I have taught everyone around me that I do not need holding. I have taught them that I am the rock, the foundation, the unshakable one. And rocks do not ask for help. Foundations do not crumble. The unshakable one does not admit to shaking.
So I fix. And I fix. And I fix. Until I cannot.
Until the weight of everyone else’s problems becomes heavier than my own. Until the exhaustion settles into my bones and I cannot tell the difference between tired and empty. Until I look in the mirror and realize that I have spent so much time holding other people together that I have forgotten how to hold myself.
I am not saying I want to stop. I do not. Being the fixer is part of who I am. It is not a role I play. It is a reflection of how I love. I show up because I care. I fix because I cannot stand to see the people I love in pain. That is not a weakness. That is the best part of me.
But I am learning that even fixers need fixing sometimes. Even the glue needs something to hold on to. Even Switzerland needs allies.
So I am trying to ask. Quietly. Awkwardly. In ways that feel unnatural because I have spent so long not asking.
I am trying to say: I need help. I am trying to say: I cannot carry this alone. I am trying to say: Please see me the way I see you. Not as the solution. As someone who also needs solutions sometimes.
I do not know if anyone will hear me. I do not know if anyone knows how to fix the fixer. They have never had to. I have never let them.
But maybe that is the next thing I need to fix. Not a problem out there. Not a crisis or a conflict or a logistical nightmare.
Just me. Learning to stop. To breathe. To let someone else hold the wrench for a while.
Because even the strongest structures need maintenance. Even the most reliable people need rest.
And the fixer? The fixer deserves to be fixed too.
