Stop Fixing Yourself

You’re not broken. You’re buried.

Read that again.
You don’t need to become someone new.
You need to remember who the fuck you were before the world told you to shape-shift.

Before the masks.
Before the costumes.
Before the rules of “acceptable” shrank you down and taught you to perform instead of breathe.

We live in a culture obsessed with self-improvement.
Another book. Another course. Another routine. Another guru.
Another podcast promising this is the one thing that will finally fix you.

It’s an industry built on the lie of “not enough.”
They feed you shame and sell you healing like it’s a product.
Like freedom is waiting at the end of a checklist.

They whisper: You’re still a little too much. Or not quite enough. But don’t worry - we can fix that.
All you need to do is hustle harder. Meditate longer. Build a better morning routine. Align your chakras, drink your green juice, visualise harder, manifest stronger, upgrade your productivity system…

It never fucking ends.

Because it’s not meant to.
If you were allowed to remember you were whole, their empire would collapse.

So maybe you’ve believed them.
Maybe you’ve spent years chiselling away at yourself like a statue, hoping one day you’d finally sculpt the “perfect you.”
Hoping one day you’d stand back and say, I’m done. Fixed. Worthy.

But let’s get something very fucking clear:
You were never broken.
You were never a project.
You were never meant to be on a goddamn assembly line of self-improvement.

You weren’t broken.
You were disconnected.

Disconnected from your truth.
From your body.
From the voice inside you that has always been enough.

What needs fixing isn’t you.
What needs dismantling is the illusion that you’re broken in the first place.

Self-help has become a performance loop.

You build a version of you that meditates every damn day.
That journals like it’s a job.
That reads every spiritual text, quotes Rumi on Instagram, plunges into ice baths, stacks habits, biohacks trauma like it’s a project plan.

And from the outside? It looks impressive.
People applaud.
“Wow, look how disciplined they are. Look how much they’ve healed.”

But inside?
You’re still grinding.
Still hustling to escape yourself.
Still trying to earn your way out of your own skin.

That’s not healing.
That’s just another mask.
Another costume.
Another identity you’ve built to keep yourself from standing naked in the truth.

Because here’s the thing nobody tells you:
Healing isn’t performance.
It’s not discipline.
It’s not a bullet-point list you can check off and finally say, done.

True healing isn’t another layer of effort.
It’s the moment you finally stop running.

Stop running from your pain.
Stop running from your silence.
Stop running from the terrifying, beautiful reality that you’ve been whole all along.

Healing doesn’t arrive in the tenth ice bath or the thousandth affirmation.
It arrives in the pause.
The exhale.
The collapse into presence where, for once, you’re not trying to fix, improve, or transcend - you’re just fucking here.

You don’t need to fix yourself.

You need to feel yourself.
Not analyse yourself.
Not optimise yourself.
Feel.

The shame. The grief. The rage. The joy.
The ache in your chest. The fire in your gut. The trembling in your hands.
The fucking aliveness you’ve spent years numbing in the name of discipline.

Because let’s be real - you weren’t taught to feel.
You were taught to override.
Override your hunger.
Override your tears.
Override your anger.
Override your intuition.

All for the illusion of control.
All for the badge of “togetherness.”
All for the comfort of making other people less uncomfortable.

But here’s the truth:
Control doesn’t set you free.
It just makes your cage look clean.

A tidy prison is still a prison.
A polished mask is still a mask.
You can journal at 5 a.m. every morning and still be living in a cell of your own suppression.

The point was never to perfect yourself.
The point was to remember yourself.

And remembering happens through feeling.
Through letting the mess move through you.
Through giving yourself permission to be wildly, brutally, unapologetically human.

That’s where freedom is hiding.
Not in control.
Not in performance.
But in the raw pulse of your own being, unedited, unashamed.

Let’s talk about the wound underneath it all:

The belief that who you are right now isn’t enough.

That voice says:

• “You need to be more productive.”
• “You should be further along.”
• “You can’t rest until you’ve earned it.”
• “You’re too sensitive / too intense / too chaotic.”
• “Fix yourself - then you’ll deserve peace.”

That’s not you.
That’s programming.

That’s culture trying to tame the wild soul inside you.

And I’m telling you - let it fucking burn.

Burn the plan.
Every five-year map you scribbled to prove you’re on track.
Every list of milestones you thought would finally make you worthy.
Burn it.

Burn the spreadsheet version of your self-worth.
The productivity trackers. The habit apps. The metrics you measure your humanity against.
Delete the fucking data. You’re not a project plan. You’re a pulse.

Burn the perfect morning routine.
The 12 steps you force yourself through before sunrise just to feel like you deserve to exist.
The yoga, the journaling, the lemon water, the affirmations - all sacred when they’re alive, but toxic when they’re cages.

Burn the endless fixing and upgrading and tweaking.
The obsession with polishing yourself like you’re some self-help product launch.
The exhausting cycle of “just one more book, just one more course, just one more layer.”

Because all of it keeps you chasing a version of yourself that doesn’t actually exist.
The perfect you.
The healed you.
The bulletproof, never-feels-shame, always-radiant, unbreakable you.

That person isn’t real.
Never was.

You’ve been sprinting after a mirage, and the chase has cost you the very thing you’re starving for: presence.

The truth is, you don’t need to become her, him, or them.
You need to burn the blueprint and live the unedited you.

Here’s what’s real:

You’re not unfinished.
You’re unfolding.
You’re not half-built, waiting for the right habit stack or guru to complete you.
You’re in motion. You’re alive. You’re already whole, just peeling back the layers that never belonged to you.

You’re not a problem to solve.
You are not a riddle to decode or a broken equation to balance.
You’re a fucking ecosystem - wild, messy, intelligent - remembering its natural rhythm after years of being paved over with shoulds and systems.

You’re not a blank canvas for society to paint its expectations on.
You’re not here to be brushed into a tidy picture that looks good for the gallery.
You’re the whole fucking storm.
The thunder. The lightning. The rain that breaks drought. The wild sky that refuses to be framed.

And here’s the brutal truth:
If healing feels like pressure, it’s not healing.
It’s perfectionism in disguise.
It’s shame dressed up in yoga pants.
It’s self-rejection with a spiritual sticker slapped on top.

Real healing doesn’t demand you contort yourself into “better.”
Real healing is the moment you let yourself breathe as you are.
Raw. Radiant. Enough.The truth most people can’t sit with:

You already have everything you need.

Not in a cliché way.
Not in the “just love yourself” bullshit they print on coffee mugs.
I’m talking about a visceral, cellular, deep-knowing kind of way.

The kind of knowing that lives in your bones.
The kind of knowing that doesn’t need proof, doesn’t need applause, doesn’t need a certificate to be valid.

But you’ve been taught to override that knowing.
To distrust it.
To bury it under more effort.

More doing.
More striving.
More “just one more thing” before you’re allowed to rest.

Because stillness feels unfamiliar.
And unfamiliar gets labeled as “not enough.”

So you keep moving.
Keep chasing.
Keep proving.

When all along the medicine was in the pause.
In the silence.
In the terrifying simplicity of stopping.

The truth is: stillness feels like nothing at first.
But if you let it - if you stay - stillness becomes everything.

Let me be blunt:

The obsession with fixing yourself is the very thing keeping you stuck.
You’ve built an identity around healing - the seeker, the student, the one always “working on themselves.”
And at first, it feels noble. It feels like growth.

But here’s the shadow: now you’re terrified of who you’ll be when the chase ends.

Who are you without the upgrades?
Without the constant tinkering?
Without the next book, the next retreat, the next “breakthrough” to post about online?

Who are you without the lists and the lessons and the endless internal renovations?
When the scaffolding comes down, when the performance of progress collapses, when there’s nothing left to fix - who the fuck is standing there?

Who are you… when you just fucking are?

That’s the moment it gets real.
That’s the initiation that no workshop, no coach, no program can sell you.

Because that’s the moment you stop fixing - and start remembering.

Remembering that nothing was missing.
Remembering that your worth was never up for negotiation.
Remembering that healing isn’t a chase, it’s a homecoming.

You don’t need to become the “best version” of yourself.
You just need to stop betraying the one that’s already here.

That’s when the masks fall.
That’s when the fire clears.
That’s when you stop running in circles and finally stand still in the truth:

You were never broken.
You were never behind.
You were always whole.

And now - it’s time to live like it.Try this:

Sit still.
No agenda.
No breathwork.
No music.
No journal.

Just sit.

Let your chest ache.
Let your mind wander.
Let your body twitch and itch and try to escape.

And stay.

Because under all that noise?
There’s something ancient and holy just waiting for you to be quiet enough to hear it.

It’s not new.
It’s not complicated.
It’s you.

The medicine is in the permission:

To be messy.
To not know.
To drop the fuck out of constant self-optimisation.

That’s the real rebellion.

Because the more you chase becoming…
the further you drift from the you that’s already here.

The you that doesn’t need to be earned.
The you that isn’t measured by morning routines, by milestones, by productivity hacks.
The you that has been waiting, patient, beneath all the striving.

Right now.
Breathing.
Enough.

That’s it. That’s the truth that cuts through every self-help lie: you were whole before the workbooks, before the mantras, before the upgrades.

You don’t need to become someone else.
You just need to stop abandoning the one that’s here.

And the moment you let yourself be messy, uncertain, raw -
that’s the moment you touch freedom.

Final prompts:

• What version of me am I still trying to fix?
• What does my “healing” obsession protect me from feeling?
• Who would I be without this performance of progress?
• Can I let today be enough, even if I’m not “better” than I was yesterday?

Final Words:

You don’t need another breakthrough.
You don’t need more tools.
You don’t need a new practice, a new journal prompt, a new guru, a new fucking checklist.

You don’t need to be fixed.

You just need to stop abandoning yourself in the name of becoming.
Because you’re already here.

The real you.
The soft you.
The fierce you.
The messy, holy, human you that doesn’t need improvement - just space.

Space to breathe.
Space to feel.
Space to stop running and finally collapse into your own skin.

So stop fixing.
Stop chiselling yourself like you’re marble that needs carving.
Stop treating yourself like a project with a deadline.

Start feeling.
Start listening.
Start remembering.

Because you’re not a project.
You’re a fucking presence.

Not something to build.
Not something to polish.
Not something to complete.

A living, breathing, unrepeatable presence.
And when you land in that - when you finally stop running circles around your own enoughness - you’ll see the truth that was here all along:

You were never broken.
You were never late.
You were never behind.

You were whole.
You are whole.
And all that’s left now… is to live like it.