I Don’t Want to Fix Myself Anymore
I used to think healing meant fixing.
Fix the fear.
Fix the habits.
Fix the body.
Fix the patterns.
Fix the part of me that always feels too much.
Even my self-love came with a to-do list.
I bought journals and programs and crystals and creams.
I booked sessions, started rituals, drank the tea.
Always with a low hum underneath it all:
“Maybe this will make me better.”
But what I’ve learned—slowly, painfully, with grace and grit—is this:
I’m not broken.
Never was.
And healing?
It’s not a renovation project.
It’s a homecoming.
I don’t want to fix myself anymore.
I want to be with myself.
To sit beside the ache instead of trying to solve it.
To hold the shame without trying to scrub it out.
To listen to the fear without shrinking or silencing it.
To trust that who I am—right now, unpolished, mid-process—is still worthy of gentleness.
There’s a softness I’m learning to offer myself now.
One that doesn’t rush.
One that doesn’t push.
One that feels like warm hands on cold skin.
A voice that says,
“I love you here, too.”
If you’ve been trying to fix yourself into being lovable—
into being safe, digestible, perfect—
let me tell you something tender and true:
You don’t have to earn your own love.
You just have to stop withholding it.
You are not a problem to solve.
You are a person to come home to.
And that is more than enough.
—
Dee
(In your corner, always.)