You’re Not the Fixer, and That’s Okay

The world is full of broken people.

That’s not pessimism—it’s just true. Some are broken physically. Others mentally. Most emotionally. A few spiritually. A lot financially. Some are just broken down…tired.

The old saying became a saying for a reason: there are no perfect humans. We all carry wounds. Some are obvious, some are buried deep. And as you move through life, you will meet more and more people who are hurting in ways you can’t fully understand. And you’ll want to help. You should.

But here’s something I wish someone had told me earlier:

You are not responsible for fixing anyone.

It’s Not Cold. It’s Compassionate.

That may sound cold or unfeeling. But I promise, it’s not.

This isn’t about detachment. It’s about boundaries. You should spend your life loving broken people. Investing in them. Walking alongside them. Listening, encouraging, hoping with them.

But if you cross the line from loving them to trying to “fix” them, you will eventually run yourself into the ground. Worse, you might start to believe their healing depends on you—and that’s not love. That’s pressure. That’s control.

And that’s a burden you were never meant to carry.

The Temptation to Be the Fixer

I love good movies, and one that has stuck with me is Michael Clayton.

George Clooney plays a legal “fixer”—a behind-the-scenes janitor for a prestigious law firm. When clients make messes, he’s sent in to quietly clean them up. He’s brilliant. Respected. Needed. And utterly lost. His life is unraveling even as he keeps others’ problems under wraps.

He’s the guy everyone depends on—but no one really knows. And eventually, he realizes the very thing that made him valuable has also hollowed him out.

That movie still sits with me. Because I’ve been that guy, more than once.

For My Kids (And Anyone Else Who Needs to Hear It)

To my kids, especially: I hope you will always be the kind of people who love deeply and live generously. I hope you care so much it makes you cry sometimes. I hope you choose friends who are messy, honest, and brave.

But please—don’t try to fix them. Be present. Be kind. Be dependable. But don’t make their healing your mission. That’s not your job.

And truthfully, it doesn’t work. Healing that lasts doesn’t come from being rescued. It comes from being seen, believed in, and given space to grow.

Why This Matters for Faith, Too

I’ve seen a lot of religious people over the years try to turn faith into a behavior repair shop:

Fix the addict. Fix the doubter. Fix the angry, the anxious, the different.

But Jesus never told us to fix anybody. He told us to love them. Walk with them. Let them know they’re not alone.

It’s a lot harder than fixing, honestly. Because fixing gives you control. Loving means letting go.

What to Hold Onto

You are not the fixer. But that doesn’t mean you’re powerless. Your presence can be healing. Your kindness can be catalytic. Your love can be life-changing.

But the minute you think someone else’s healing depends on your effort, you’ve lost the plot.

So show up.
Listen well.
Set boundaries.
Speak truth.

And let grace do what grace does best.

Grace and grit to you! — LK