Why do we so often seek to ‘fix’ others?
For illustrative purposes, I’m going to start off this entry in a rather unorthodox manner.
I’m going to point out that in many ways, this mortal life is depressing, depleting, and ostensibly pointless.
Its joyous moments are inexorably fleeting. Under various colors of trauma at all stages, we are born, we grow up, we grow old, and then we die, and during that period of time, we suffer constantly, and any illusion of purpose or meaning can be impossibly hard to find, and when all is said and done, whatever we do find in that regard ultimately proves futile, because there is nothing in this earthly realm that doesn’t end in decline and ultimate demise, whether you’re a billionaire or someone who routinely sleeps under a bridge. Moreover, none of us really knows what lies beyond, much less what we’re doing here in the first place, no matter how much we like to pretend we do.
Yet we still spend this life seeking to build palaces, literally and figuratively, that will inevitably crumble in a period of time that represents not even the blink of an eye in the context of eternity.
Now, let me ask: What’s your reaction to these sentiments? Are you triggered by them?
If so, why? Is anything that I just wrote objectively false? If so, tell me.
If not that, then what? What did you find so offensive about my statement?
You did find it offensive on some level, didn’t you? I can just hear it: You are such a downer. Stop being so negative! I can’t read a blog that’s just doom and gloom all the time.
Really? Why can’t you?
And how does one define “negative” in this context? Is it just any reality that we’d prefer to ignore?
This is what I think desperately calls for examination and exploration. Here’s a rule for life, one that I’m still very much working on following myself: If it’s uncomfortable, it needs to be brought to light.
As human beings, we suffer collective trauma. (By the way, when I use the pronoun “we” anywhere in this entry, that’s exactly who I am referring to: all human beings who have ever lived or will do so—past, present, and future.)
We implicitly know that the existence we inhabit is fundamentally fallen and broken, marked by pain, suffering, grief, loss, regret, dysfunction, degradation, decline, depravity, division, isolation, violence, chaos, exploitation, greed, inequality, injustice, abuse. The list goes on. It’s undeniably true of our world, and it’s true of our personal lives—each in a unique way, but true nonetheless.
Yet we are so traumatized by this truth that we try not only to deny it in every way we can, but to punish anyone who would dare even utter it. We see it in society and popular culture all the time: Positive vibes only! Say no to downers!
We also see in our own interpersonal interactions—or at least I do. Have you ever been part of a conversation that takes a sobering turn? Then, as if on cue, someone will awkwardly interject, “let’s talk about something more uplifting instead!”
And then whatever wisdom, insight, or revelation might have been gleaned by that conversation is foreclosed upon, all because someone felt uncomfortable and thus cut it off.
What I’m referring to here, you may note, is toxic positivity, which is often made manifest in the way we respond, both as a society and as individuals, to people who are unhappy or suffering in some manner.
Why can’t you just be happy? You have so many advantages in life!
If only she would do X-Y-Z, things would be better for her.
He needs to get off his ass and do something instead of just wallowing in his own misery.
Focus on the positive instead of feeling sorry for yourself.
Sadly, this is what sometimes passes as “counseling” or “therapy.” Instead of working toward true healing, redemption, and wholeness, an emphasis is placed on “fixing” the problem—and, by extension, the person.
But what does “fixing” even mean? And at what cost does it come?
No doubt it’s seductive—because it’s easy, it’s simple, and it’s safe. If every shortcoming or foible in life has a straightforward, surface-level, action- and results-oriented remedy, then we never have to recognize, much less engage with, some deeply disquieting yet important and even profound truths and realities, including those about ourselves. We locate what’s wrong with someone else and claim to know how to “fix” it, and then we successfully avoid the hard work of engaging with our own brokenness.
“I’m not the problem; you are! I have the answers; let me fix you!” is an incredibly convenient defense structure.
Which, incidentally, can be immensely shame-inducing. Imagine the inner dialogue of one who finds themselves the object of this projection:
It’s your own fault. You’re lazy. You’re ungrateful. You’re just negative all the time. You don’t understand that there are so many people who have it so much worse than you do! You must be doing something wrong—because look at all of the people in similar circumstances who [appear to] have their shit together!
Indeed, I found this post on LinkedIn recently, authored by someone who identifies as neurodivergent, reflecting on how long they had viewed themself as a bad person until they finally came to the realization that their brain “simply works differently.” Please take a moment to read it. It’s worth your time.
But one needn’t consider themselves neurodivergent in order for this insight to be applicable: Everyone’s brain works differently in some way. So when you derisively ask why someone can’t simply change or take control of their circumstances, the answer may be surprisingly obvious: They may not know any other way to be.
And frankly, what’s wrong with that? Why should they? Consider your deepest, most profound pain and suffering, and then consider what you would find most helpful as a source of healing and redemption.
Is it really just a list of suggestions or instructions — a “to-do list,” if you will? One that perhaps comes with the unspoken implication that if you were a competent human being, you’d be doing these things already? One that makes little or no consideration for what it’s like to be you?
Deep down, people do not want to be fixed; they want to be seen. I’ve said this before and it bears repeating over and over again—because when we treat other people as objects or projects rather than human beings with unique, broken yet beautiful stories longing to be told, we often compound their trauma.
To illustrate why that is, let me go back to where I started: Again, there is nothing quantifiably, objectively wrong in what I said about the innate existential futility and despair of this ephemeral life. Nevertheless, it would be quite easy to argue with it: “Yes, but! You’re ignoring all of the beauty and wonder and joyful experiences there are in this life!”
Nothing objectively wrong about that take, either.
It’s a matter of perspective and experience. Or, to channel the words of Joni Mitchell’s poignant, timeless masterpiece, “Both Sides Now”:
I’ve looked at life from both sides now
From win and lose and still somehow
It’s life’s illusions I recall
I really don’t know life at all
As these lyrics illustrate, and as I alluded to above, much of life is a mystery. One of its few certainties is thus: To be human is to suffer. We all suffer in unique ways, but we all suffer. There is no “fixing” that.
Yet it seems so easy and so tempting to declare that someone is “wrong” because of their response to this inherent reality—that they’re too “negative,” or maybe not grateful enough. Or perhaps that their background, perspective, coping strategies, or innate way of being in the world is different from my own, and therefore it’s a problem.
It helps assuage whatever anxieties lurk within me—sort of like someone saying, “let’s change the subject to something more positive!” But it can leave the other person feeling shamed and invisible.
We’d do far better to simply admit that this life is often kind of shitty, and everyone is just trying to get through it. Ironically, by doing that, we boldly give ourselves space for shared vulnerability in which to, in the words of author Susan Cain, “tell the truth of what it’s like to be alive.”
When we do, we might discover we’re not nearly as alone as we thought we were.
There’s a beautiful, profound poem by Mary Oliver called “Wild Geese” that I think summarizes these sentiments more powerfully than I ever could:
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.
