My therapist says I’m codependent, which is a surprisingly gentle way of saying I’m an emotional fixer. Like a one-person SWAT team for feelings, I’m the first to arrive on the scene with a tactical plan and a can-do attitude. But instead of saving hostages, I’m saving people from their own life problems—and in the process, I’m taking on all their issues as my own.
Based on my last two relationships, this diagnosis feels pretty spot-on. There was the 20-year marriage and the complicated rebound I jumped into almost immediately after. I’ve learned that I’m not just a people pleaser; I’m a people problem-solver. My heart doesn’t just skip a beat when I meet someone I like; it starts drawing up blueprints for their happiness.
I’m not just a people pleaser; I’m a people problem-solver.
Fixing My Way Through Life
With my ex-husband, the fixing was practical. He disliked his job, so I happily took on the burden of working full-time at a job he openly disdained. I made sure he had the better car, the newer phone, and the top-of-the-line computer while I was out there trying to haggle down the price of jeans. He complained about my desire for new clothes—”$30 for jeans?!”—while I was funding his freedom. The irony wasn’t lost on me, but I was too busy being the hero to notice I was the one in distress. He even told me I couldn’t retire because we needed my income and my health insurance. It was a beautiful, twisted cycle of him needing me and me needing to be needed.
My rebound relationship was more emotional, but the pattern was the same. My partner didn’t like being alone, so I reshaped my entire life to make sure he never was. My calendar became his schedule. My free time was his free time. I didn’t just meet his needs; I anticipated them and had a plan of action ready before he even knew what he wanted. I was so busy managing his feelings that I had no time to check in with my own.
Breaking the Fixer Habit
I’m single now, or more accurately, solo poly, which is a great way to say I’m flying solo and charting my own course. I can travel when I want, spend time on my own hobbies, and decide my own damn schedule. It’s glorious. So why do I still feel guilty for traveling instead of helping my mom organize her finances? Why do I feel selfish for saying no to a friend who “needs” me?
My therapist says that my attempts to fix other people’s problems or make them feel better are really about my own need for control. If I can prove how essential I am, I can ensure they’ll never leave me. It’s an incredibly destructive and ultimately exhausting way to live.
My therapist says that my attempts to fix other people’s problems are really about my own need for control.
Now I’m dating again, and I’m trying to avoid my old patterns. When a guy I’m seeing gets laid off, my immediate instinct is to offer to help. When another one tells me he has to move out of his apartment, my brain immediately starts calculating how much space I have in my place. But then I stop myself. I’m a problem-solver, not a landlord or a walking safety net. I’m learning that my worth isn’t tied to my usefulness.
The Joy of Being Selfish
It’s been four months since my last relationship ended, and for the first time in a long time, I am doing quite well. The anxiety and sadness have faded, and I’m finding my footing. Making decisions for myself without anyone else’s input is simultaneously terrifying and exhilarating. It’s hard work, but I’m learning to stand on my own two feet without propping up someone else. My old habits are still there, hovering like ghosts in the corners of my mind, but I’m actively working on not inviting them in for tea. I’m learning to live for myself, not for others. And honestly, it’s about time I gave myself a little TLC.
Making decisions for myself without anyone else’s input is simultaneously terrifying and exhilarating.
Do you see yourself in this pattern of trying to fix others? What’s one small thing you could do today to start living for yourself?