There’s a kind of quiet cringe that comes over me sometimes — a memory of a moment where I shared a bit too much, tried a bit too hard, or said something that didn’t quite land. Maybe I cracked a joke that felt a little off. Maybe I opened up and then panicked that it was too soon. Maybe I offered someone help they never asked for.

It’s subtle. But it stings.

The thing is, most of these moments don’t come from malice. They come from a deep, long-standing desire to connect — and from old patterns that were shaped in homes where connection was unpredictable, unsafe, or transactional.

🧠 When Help Becomes a Habit

I used to be “the fixer.”

The helper.
The one who knew the answers, offered support, sorted the tech issues, solved people’s problems — and got validation from that role.

Until I met someone who did it better.

On my counselling course, there was a guy who always put his hand up first, always helped people, always had the right notes and answers. I felt something rise up in me — something like irritation, maybe even envy. And beneath that: loss. Because that used to be me. That needed to be me.

And if I’m honest, I think I judged him a little — not because he was wrong, but because I hadn’t yet fully made peace with the part of me that needed to be liked in order to feel worthy.

🧩 Sharing vs. Being Rescued

People sometimes talk about vulnerability like it’s this big dramatic thing — like you either bare your soul or stay silent. But I think the real work is quieter than that.

It’s in the moment where you say,

“Yeah, it’s been hard with the puppy — harder than I expected as a single dad.”

Not to dump. Not to beg. Just… to say it. To name the reality.

But what happens next can be exhausting:

“Oh, you need to try this…”
“Have you looked into that…”
“You should really…”

They’re trying to help. I know that. But it pulls the conversation away from the simple, human connection I was reaching for.

🤖 This Is Where ChatGPT Belongs

Oddly, this is where I prefer AI.

If I need a tool for my dog, or to fix the sink, or decide between drills — I’ll ask ChatGPT. No emotional labour, no fixer energy, no subtle shame. Just logic.

But when I’m aching for presence — not answers — I don’t need advice.

I need a friend.
Or a therapist.
Or someone who can sit in the not-knowing with me.

That’s the part AI can’t replicate.
And it’s the part so many of us crave without knowing how to ask for it.

🌿 I’m Learning

I’m learning to say:

“I don’t need help right now — just space.”
“I’m not broken. I’m just feeling.”
“I’m sharing this not for a solution, but because it’s true.”

And I’m learning to let myself off the hook when I get it wrong.
When I offer help where it’s not needed.
When I reach too far.
When I feel that familiar cringe.

Because I’m not perfect.
But I’m healing.
And maybe that’s enough.

🛡️ A Quiet Boundary I’m Building

There’s something I want to say, to myself and others, when that automatic “fix-it” reflex kicks in:

“Thank you — I know you’re trying to help.
But I’m not looking for advice right now.
Just presence.”

That’s where the real healing happens.

Not in the answers — but in the attunement.
Not in fixing — but in feeling together.
Not in doing more — but in being met.

And honestly, that’s all I’ve ever wanted.