I Am Broken, Please Don’t Fix Me (Part 2) A Different Perspective

Understanding Brokenness: A Different Perspective

We got feedback from this original article I Am Broken, Please Don’t Fix Me — Blessed Ways of Life and wanted to do a follow up, on people having a deeper understanding …

I read this story and immediately thought of someone I know who is struggling with substance abuse—using it to numb their pain rather than seeking healing. At first, I was judgmental. I couldn’t understand why they wouldn’t just ask for help, why they continued down a path that seemed to only bring more suffering.

Recently I was asked a question that forced me to turn inward: "Why do you smoke and drink?" I had never given it much thought. I considered myself a normal person—functional, productive—but as I reflected, I realized that my own habits were not just casual indulgences. They were coping mechanisms, ways to dull the edges of wounds I didn’t want to acknowledge. I wasn’t ready to unpack the pain that lay beneath them, just as my friend wasn’t ready to confront theirs.

Now, I see them differently. I understand that their choices aren’t about recklessness or a lack of willpower. They are about survival.

I watch them move through life with a guarded heart, retreating into their pain like it is the only thing they know. From the outside, their decisions may seem self-destructive, their avoidance of help frustrating, their inability to accept love bewildering. But if you look deeper, if you listen without judgment, you begin to understand—this is not about choice. This is about survival.

They were not always this way. There was a time before the walls, before the fear of happiness, before self-sabotage became second nature. But something happened—a childhood filled with neglect, a lack of boundaries, a home that felt more like a battlefield than a place of safety. Love, as they understood it, came with conditions, if it came at all. And so, they learned to adapt, to function in a world that never taught them how to trust, how to receive, how to be vulnerable.

Pain became their companion. The unpredictability of chaos became their stability. And when something good entered their life—whether a kind word, a loving hand, an opportunity for healing—their instinct was not to embrace it, but to destroy it. Because good things felt temporary. Love felt like a trap. Stability felt suffocating.

I see it now—the way they push people away before they can be left, the way they destroy relationships before they can be hurt, the way they choose the familiar pain over the unknown possibilities of healing. It is not because they do not want happiness. It is because they have never trusted it. Happiness, to them, has always been fleeting, always followed by pain. And so, they have conditioned themselves not to want it, to not believe in it, to view it as something that will inevitably be taken away.

Therapy, self-reflection, and change all require looking inward, facing the buried wounds that have long dictated their lives. But to do so is to open the floodgates to a lifetime of pain. And they are not ready for that—not yet. The thought of unraveling their defenses is more terrifying than the suffering they have come to accept. And so, they stay as they are, in the only space that feels safe, even if it is drowning them.

To those who love them, this is painful to watch. The instinct is to fix, to help, to convince them that they deserve more. But healing does not work that way. No amount of external effort can force someone to see their own worth. No amount of love can make them believe in their own ability to be whole. The decision to heal must come from within. They must choose it. They must be ready for it.

So what can we do? We can meet them where they are. We can offer patience instead of pressure, understanding instead of frustration. We can let them know that they are not alone, that when they are ready, we will still be here. We can show them that love does not have to be earned, that safety does not have to be conditional. And most importantly, we can let them move at their own pace, allowing them the space to decide when they are ready to take the first step toward something better.

Because healing is not a destination we can push them toward. It is a door they must choose to walk through. And when they do, they must know that someone will be waiting on the other side—not to fix them, but to stand beside them as they learn to fix themselves.

As for me, I now understand. I see myself in them, and in that reflection, I find gratitude. My pain is manageable. My habits, though coping mechanisms, have not overtaken me. And with this newfound awareness, I choose to be more compassionate, not only to them but also to myself. I will not judge their journey, nor will I ignore my own. I will do my best to meet them with kindness and to support them in ways they are ready to receive. And perhaps, in doing so, I too will take another step toward my own healing.

Please help us spread the word to those who might appreciate this.

Related story: I Am Broken, Please Don’t Fix Me — Blessed Ways of Life

Healing prayers: Every day Prayers — Blessed Ways of Life

Youtube Video: The Power of Forgiveness

Short Video: Healing