Something came up at work recently that really made me think about a part of myself that can be a flaw: my need to fix things.
Here’s the thing no one really prepares you for when you step into management: you don’t just manage tasks, you manage humans. And humans are… complicated.

We spend so much of our lives at work, side by side with the same people every day, that when something feels off—when there’s tension, miscommunication, or conflict—it doesn’t just stay “professional.” It seeps into everything. It affects the mood, the energy, the way the whole team functions. And when your team is small? You feel it even more.
Recently, two people on our team—two genuinely good, capable people—have had a strained working relationship. In my opinion, they were set up for failure from the start. Somewhere along the way, things broke down. And even though no one is necessarily wrong and everyone’s feelings are valid… it’s still not working the way it should.

And that’s where I get stuck. Because I am, by nature, a fixer.

Give me a problem, and I will find a way through it. I’ll adjust the process, have the conversation, create the plan, smooth the edges—whatever it takes.
But this? This kind of problem? It doesn’t behave.
At one point, I think, okay, we fixed it. And then something else comes up. A new layer. A different perspective. Another ripple, and suddenly I’m right back where I started, trying to solve something that doesn’t seem to want to be solved. If I’m being honest… that’s really hard for me to accept.

The part that’s been even more eye-opening is realizing this doesn’t stop at work.
My husband has said to me more than once, “I don’t need you to fix it. I just need you to listen.”

And every time, part of me thinks, I am listening.
But the other part of me is already trying to solve it.

Because in my mind, fixing is how I show up for people. It’s how I care. If something is wrong, why wouldn’t I try to make it better? As I’ve gotten older, I’m starting to understand something that doesn’t come naturally to me:

Not everyone wants their problem solved.

Sometimes people just want to be heard, validated, and not moved out of their feelings before they’re ready.
And even now—even knowing that—that can be hard to accept. There’s still a part of me that thinks, But there has to be something we can do. Sitting in the discomfort without trying to change it? That still feels unnatural. It still takes effort. It still goes against my instinct almost every time.
So maybe the work for people like me isn’t to stop being fixers.

Maybe it’s to expand what we think “fixing” actually means.
Sometimes fixing looks like solving a problem.
Sometimes… it looks like creating space where someone feels heard. Those are not the same skill, and one doesn’t come as naturally to me as the other.
But I am trying. Not perfectly—but intentionally.

This is the part I struggle with the most, I’ve had to give myself actual tools—because “just listen” sounds simple until you’re in the moment and your brain is already ten steps ahead trying to solve it.

One of the biggest things that’s helped me is asking a simple question up front:

“Do you want me to listen, to help problem-solve, or to give my unfiltered opinion?”

On top of all this being an empath, makes all of this harder. People come to me with their problems, and I feel their stress, frustration, and emotions as if they’re my own. Asking this question gives me clarity and gives them the space to be honest about what they need—and it keeps me from overstepping without realizing it.

Another thing I’ve been practicing is delaying the fix instead of shutting it down completely. Telling myself, “You can help later—just not right now,” takes the pressure off. I don’t feel like I’m ignoring the problem, I’m just choosing to be present first.

I’ve also been working on reflecting instead of responding.Instead of jumping in with ideas or solutions, I try to say things like, “That sounds really frustrating,” or “I can see why that would bother you.”
It feels small, but it lands in a completely different way than advice does.

Then there’s the pause—which I am not good at…
Not filling the silence right away. Letting the conversation breathe for a second longer than feels comfortable. That’s usually where the other person keeps talking—and where the real connection actually happens.

But the biggest shift for me has been redefining what success looks like in these moments.

Success isn’t always that the problem gets solved. Sometimes success is that the other person felt heard.

That the conversation stayed open.

That the relationship didn’t take a hit.

And that has to be enough.

I am not sure that this is something I’ll ever fully master. There are still moments—at work and at home—where I can feel that urge bubbling up, where I want to jump in, take over, and make everything better, sometimes I still do.But I’m getting better at catching it. Pausing. Choosing a different response, and maybe that’s the real growth here.
Not becoming someone who doesn’t want to fix things—But becoming someone who knows when not to.

And on that note… I have to go, because the dog just puked all over the couch…