When I was just out of college I dated a guy who was always trying to fix things for me whether they were mechanical or emotional in nature. If it was broke he tried to fix it. He was my Mr Fix-it boyfriend and it made me mental.
I’m not sure that I would say I have always been independently minded but at least, starting in High School with the discovery of the Sex Pistols I ranked right up there on the independent scale. This is why Mr Fix-it didn’t last long. I didn’t WANT him to fix it. I wanted him to hear about it, have the proper amount of sympathy and then help ME find a solution.
It is this memory that triggers something in me today. I am involved in a community of people who move against the Fix-it grain. We all want to fix what’s broken in us, don’t get me wrong but we have this common language now that we speak that is all about listening, having the proper amount of grace and then helping each other find a solution.
The best part of the process for me, frankly, is coming together and showing what’s broken. A kind of show and tell for the injured.
It’s a risk, a very great risk to show what’s broken. It’s intimate. It’s embarrassing. It’s humbling.
But if showing what’s broken is hard (and it is) then what is even more difficult is being the one to view the broken. Learning to listen. Not offering to fix it. Not comparing it to my own broken pieces but just letting silence fill the space while tears gather and then, when all is said and done we look around the room and know that we are known. We know that we are loved and accepted no matter how broken we are.
this is the good stuff. trust me on this.
No more Mrs Fix-it. That’s what I’m thinking about today.