I'm Done Being the Fixer

 

I'm Done Being the Fixer

I’ve stopped trying to fix what I didn’t break.  

There’s a welcome kind of freedom in that, 

the moment you finally unclench your grip

from the wreckage everyone swears you caused.

I’ve spent years picking through pieces

that were scattered long before I arrived,

trying to fit them back together

like some unpaid fixer of other people’s storms.

Friendships, ministry, family,

the urgent emergencies in other people’s lives, 

I kept showing up with glue and hope,

thinking maybe this time I could make it whole.

But I’m tired in a way that sleep doesn’t touch.

I’m scraped thin from apologizing for fires

I didn’t start,

from carrying guilt that never belonged to me.

There’s no redemption in bleeding for someone else’s chaos,

no miracle in rebuilding what was never mine to save.

So I’m laying down the tools.

I’m stepping back from the ruins.

Let the pieces stay where they fell.

Let the blame echo somewhere else.

I’m old, exhausted, and I’m all out of guilt 

and maybe that’s the first real healing

I’ve ever given myself.