I’m tired of fixing myself
Lately a lot of things in our house have broken and needed fixing or replacing.
Vacuum.
Vehicle.
Dishwasher.
Fridge.
Toilet.
Even our kitten is going to be neutered; or ‘fixed’ as my parents used to call it.
At 47, I’ve somehow ended up on this list too.
My sleep has been disrupted, so I try to fix it.
My body is behaving differently, so I try to fix it.
My mind wants one thing, but my nervous system won’t comply, so I try to fix it.
I’ve always felt I have the mind of a cheetah but the nervous system of a sloth.
Fix it.
It didn’t just start as I got later in my 40’s.
It started decades ago.
For as long as I can remember, the equation has been simple:
Something wrong?
Find the problem.
Fix it.
I spent so many years with different therapists, counsellors, coaches, modalities, and programs.
All with the underlying promise that I’d be fixed.
And yet, after decades of self-improvement, I still felt like I needed more fixing.
They didn’t fail.
The premise was just all wrong.
Because it’s not the pieces of me that are broken or need replacing.
I’m not a broken system.
More like an instrument that’s been tuned for survival.
Not out of tune.
Just tuned for a different performance.
That tuning favoured fear, anxiety, hypervigilance, hustle, people pleasing, and perfectionism.
It served me well in corporate life.
It earned promotions and pay raises.
But the same tuning that helped me survive one season made it hard to inhabit the next.
Running my own business.
Parenting.
Actually enjoying my life.
It amplified some notes while muting others.
Fear louder than joy.
Vigilance louder than play.
Survival louder than aliveness.
I’m tired of fixing myself.
I’m tired of optimizing my days like I’m some kind of machinery.
Lately, I’m craving something new.
Acceptance.
Wholeness.
Reorganizing what’s already there.
Because those parts I tried to fix protected me.
They helped me survive.
They’re not wrong.
They just don’t need to set the tempo anymore.
Maybe I don’t need to become the “best version of myself.”
Maybe all I need is integration.
The instrument is the same.
Only the tuning is changing.
And with it, the music.
I really love the analogy of tuning. And as I was listening a question popped up in my head. Does the tuning start at home as a child or in elementary school? Or is the note we've been tuned to related to a patriarchal society? Or/And perhaps our tuning began in the wombs of our grand mothers.Just some musings to go along with yours.