Burning Beneath

Lately, I’ve been watching myself with a new kind of honesty.

Not judgment.

Not shame.

Just… awareness.

There’s a pattern in me that has been quietly running my life for decades:

the instinct to fix, soothe, rescue, and hold everything together — even when no one asked me to.

I never questioned it.

It felt natural.

Automatic.

A part of my personality.

But now I see it for what it truly is:

a survival skill that once protected me.

When I was young, the world around me did not feel steady.

Every room, every conversation, every person carried the possibility of emotional change.

So I learned to stay alert.

Always attentive.

Always monitoring.

Always ready.

That state of “alertness” became my normal.

And from that place, the urge to fix everything was born.

If someone cried, I felt responsible.

If someone struggled, my mind searched for solutions.

If someone hinted at a need, I rushed to fill it.

If someone drifted away emotionally, I tried to pull them back with help, support, or giving more of myself than I could afford.

I thought this was kindness.

I thought this was love.

I thought this was what it meant to care.

But now I understand something deeper:

This urge was never about them.

It was about keeping myself safe in a world where safety was never guaranteed.

Fixing became my armor.

Helping became my identity.

Stability became something I tried to create in others because I never had it in my own hands.

And realizing this…

It’s like stepping out into fresh air after living inside a room that was always tense, always watching, always working.

I’m learning that I can care without carrying.

I can love without losing myself.

I can support without sacrificing.

I can listen without leaping in to save.

I am allowed to exist without fixing everything.

This awareness doesn’t erase the old instinct — it still rises sometimes, out of habit.

But now I see it.

I recognize its voice.

And I’m learning to choose differently.

This is the beginning of a new chapter in my healing:

reshaping the way I relate to others,

releasing the roles I took on to survive,

and discovering who I am without the constant need to hold everything together.

I’m not done learning.

I’m not done unlearning.

But I’m awake now.

And that changes everything.