I’m not in the fix-it game anymore.
That term has haunted me.
Always implying I’m broken.
Always layering shame and guilt where I’ve needed grace, care, and simple holding.
We are obsessed with “not being enough.” Who told us that?
It’s a good question to ponder along the way.
As a kid, I remember sitting on the floor watching MTV, taking mental notes I didn’t know I was taking.
- Keep my mouth closed.
- Show my legs.
- Giggle and smile.
ZZ Top.
You get it.
I also absorbed other rules like believing I couldn’t be both smart and sensual.
Couldn’t be a teacher and be hot.
(“Hot for Teacher,” reference. Anyone?)
But then there was her.
Madonna.
She didn’t ask for permission.
She didn’t apologize.
She owned her own light, even if it burned someone’s eyes.
I loved it. I’d inch closer and closer to the television every chance I got.
I didn’t want to be Madonna. Material Girl was never my style.
But I saw something in her I needed:
The power to stand in MY own truth.
Something I didn’t feel safe enough to do with my father in the room,
but it planted a seed.
Let’s go back to fixing, shall we?
We’re bombarded with messages:
Buy this product.
Move to this country.
Try this spiritual path.
And Voilà—healed.
What they’re really selling?
The belief that your true self isn’t enough.
And I bought it.
I’ve had happiness—fleeting, performative happiness.
But I still made myself small.
Still tried to be palatable to my little world.
Even with the people I loved.
Especially them.
We’re told to “be better,”
Everything seems to have a condition. Instead of turning away, we have made little agreements and “conditioned” ourselves.
How can we accept unconditional love if we are still operating under our OWN conditioned agreements?
And I’m done chasing conditional happiness.
I want peace.
Not silence but peace.
That quiet click inside when my voice finally says nothing’s missing or wrong.
My work, this movement, is not about fixing.
It’s a mirror.
It says:
“I’m not here to change you.
I’m here to show you who you already are—beneath the dust, beneath the weight, beneath the conditional rules.”
Not another self-help layer.
Not another mask.
Just removal.
Just return.
And it’s not tidy work.
It’s gut-wrenching, grief-filled, mud-covered labor.
But it’s real.
And it leads us HOME.
Back to ourselves. Without conditions.
Fixing vs restoration
I love flea markets.
Thrift stores.
Forgotten corners of antique shops.
Sometimes I feel like one of those items that is sitting on a dusty shelf in the back. Not needing a makeover.
Just wanting to be seen.
Understood.
Loved. Restored…
Maybe that’s all restoration really is:
Not turning us into something new
but revealing what was always there under the surface.
“You don’t just see the beauty—you remember it.” “You say: I knew this was under here. I always knew.”
So no, we don’t need to be fixed.
We are not projects.
We are not problems.
We are beautiful pieces of art.
Even with our patina, rust, and peeling edges.
Maybe we need some restoration.
But I see that as an arc of love.
Handle with care.
