Wednesday, August 29, 2012

Fix You

(day 29 of 30 in 30)

I have a difficult relationship with being “fixed.”
It goes without saying, I believe, that I could certainly use some fixing. And lord knows I could use some guidance or support while fixing. But I have never been particularly fond of the idea of letting someone else “fix me.”
Saviors usually get the ultimate side eye from me. You know, the people whom have never met a problem they couldn’t run into headfirst and come out the other side, preferably with some hopeless, hapless prince or princess by their side to lavish in the spoils with them. Not because they aren’t great people or because I don’t believe their intentions to be good. But because I have known too many Fixers.
I know plenty of people for whom this idea is the ideal. Somebody with all their shit together swoops in and cleans up their life a la Super Nanny if there were bills and booze. And I understand the allure. I do. It can be incredibly tempting, the idea that there might be a person out there big enough to fill the spaces, strong enough to fix the breaks and tears and holes. And certainly it seems easier than shouldering it all on your own. But I always have one question that no one can answer; what happens after I’m fixed.
If there is anything I know about Fixers, about Saviors on white horses and in capes, is that they don’t fix you and suddenly overcome the need to fix. It doesn’t work that way. They fix something, they are buoyed, strengthened by being able to fix, and then they seek out a bigger, badder problem to fix. It is what they do. It makes them feel needed and necessary. Or it allows them distraction. But either way, why does no one ever ask what happens when you are all better?
Assuming of course you are not a perpetually broken person, what happens where there are no more big fixes? No more issues to tackle, no more emotionally charged land mines to step around in your relationship? No more grand gestures necessary to prove anything, no more fighting it out, down in the trenches with you. What happens when you have fought all your major battles and things have leveled out into an even rhythm, when the storm seas of your interaction have mellowed to a still pond? Do you really think suddenly the Fixer is cured of their need to fix?
Or do they, as I hypothesize, start to itch with the need to seek out a new “fix”? Do they start to feel unneeded? Or worse, resent your wholeness?
And whether they like to admit it or not, their compulsion to fix is a problem that needs fixing as much as any problem you might have. But I suppose no one wants to discuss that.
I suppose this is why I have always been weary of people willing to fix me. Part of it is my own bullheadedness; I am perfectly capable of fixing myself, thankyouverymuch. But part of it is a deep down leeriness of what happens afterwards. What will you do, who will you be, once I no longer need fixing?

1 comment:

Jazzy said...

My mother is a fixer. Part of it is her need to be needed and her need to be in other folks business.