You know the trope. Girl meets guy. Guy is charming but deeply emotionally unavailable, hasn’t been to therapy, and thinks an oil change counts as character development. Girl sees potential. Girl convinces herself she’s the one who can unlock his inner growth, coax him into healthy communication, and casually rebuild his entire emotional architecture between Taco Bell runs. Girl is exhausted.
That, my friends, is “I can fix him” energy.
It’s the deeply relatable—and often subconscious—urge to overinvest in someone who isn’t ready, willing, or asking to be fixed. It’s the hope that if we just try a little harder, love a little more, or send the right article at the right time, we’ll be the catalyst for transformation.
This kind of fixer energy often starts in our personal lives. But what no one tells you is that it can follow you—quietly, sneakily—right into your workplace.
It took me years to realize I’d traded the emotionally distant boyfriend from years ago for the emotionally dysfunctional department. Suddenly, I was trying to save teams, over-function in meetings, and singlehandedly rehab toxic culture like it was a one-woman home makeover show.
I thought if I worked hard enough and cared loud enough, I could turn things around. I could be the glue. The fixer. The one who brings peace and productivity and great snacks to the breakroom.
Spoiler: that’s not how this works.
Photo by Brands&People on Unsplash
When Passion Becomes Overfunctioning
When I bring up this topic with friends, there’s usually a pause followed by a slow nod. “Oh yeah,” someone will say. “I’ve done that.”
It starts innocently enough—usually with a well-meaning spreadsheet.
You notice something broken. A gap in communication. A clunky process. A morale problem so thick you could slice it and serve it on a cafeteria tray. So you step in. You offer help. You lead the charge. You schedule the meeting. And before you know it, you’re neck-deep in dysfunction that didn’t start with you but somehow became your job to fix.
And it feels noble at first. Helpful. Purposeful.
Until it doesn’t.
Until your calendar is packed with meetings that aren’t technically your problem. Until your “quick favor” becomes a full-time unpaid role. Until your brain is chewing on ways to fix a broken team dynamic at 2:07 a.m., instead of sleeping like a normal person.
I’ve been there. More than once. At more than one workplace. Maybe you have, too.
We don’t talk enough about the emotional labor that comes with caring deeply in a workplace that runs on inertia. Or what it means to feel like the only one trying to make things better. It’s lonely. It’s draining. And it can quietly tip into resentment if you’re not careful.
You’re Not the Workplace Messiah
This was a hard truth for me to accept: I am not the workplace savior. And neither are you.
It doesn’t matter how many late nights you work or how many vision statements you write on napkins. If the culture doesn’t want to change—if leadership isn’t committed—then you’re not driving transformation. You’re just performing CPR on a system that doesn’t think it’s dying.
And I get it. It’s so tempting to believe that your effort, your ideas, your energy will be enough. That if you stay positive, stay persistent, keep showing up with your metaphorical pom-poms, something will shift.
But here’s the truth: You cannot want change more than the people who need to change.
You can’t carry an entire department’s dysfunction on your back. You can’t over-function your way to culture reform. And you sure as heck can’t out-Google bad leadership with a list of “12 Ways to Improve Workplace Morale.”
Ask me how I know.
Leadership vs. Rescuing
Let’s be clear: having vision is not the problem. Wanting things to be better is not the problem. Caring deeply is not the problem.
The problem is confusing leadership with rescue work.
Leadership invites people into change. Rescuing tries to drag them into it. Leadership uses influence. Rescuing uses guilt, overcommitment, and burnout. Leadership requires mutual investment. Rescuing runs on codependency and caffeine.
So often, we fall into the trap of thinking our job is to carry everyone’s emotional baggage for them. To “fix” the team. To “heal” the culture. To be both the compass and the mule.
But what if our real job is simply to hold up a mirror?
To say, kindly but clearly: “This isn’t working. But I believe something better is possible.”
That’s the work. Not fixing. Reflecting. And then helping people take ownership of their part.
Culture Work Is a Slow Burn
Everyone loves a good transformation montage in a movie. Cue the music, clean the files, repaint the breakroom, throw in a heartfelt all-staff meeting, and boom—culture reset.
Real life is slower.
Culture doesn’t change with a new poster on the wall. It changes in the tiny, unsexy moments. The way we talk to each other in meetings. The way we handle hard conversations. The way we respond when someone finally says, “Hey, this isn’t okay.”
It’s long-haul work.
It takes trust. It takes consistency. It takes about ten times longer than you think it should.
And that’s why fixer energy doesn’t last. It’s not sustainable. It burns hot and fast and then fizzles when things don’t immediately transform.
What lasts? Boundaried hope. Steady leadership. Collaborative ownership. And a whole lot of patience.
What I’m Learning to Do Instead
I still care deeply. I still notice what’s broken. But here’s how I’m learning to move differently:
- I don’t jump in immediately. I pause. I listen. I ask questions. I check if help is wanted—or just assumed.
- I ask for shared ownership. If no one else is willing to co-carry the load, I consider that data.
- I let silence speak. Sometimes the lack of urgency from others is exactly the information I need.
- I lead by modeling, not martyring. I work with integrity. I follow through. But I no longer over-function just to “prove” my value.
Most importantly, I remember that I am not the fixer. I am just a person with perspective, presence, and permission to rest when needed.
The Spouse Parallel
Marriage has been one of the best teachers in this area.
If I walked into my house every day with a list of ways to “improve” my husband, we’d both be miserable. (Also, probably divorced.) We’re not projects for each other—we’re partners. And any growth that’s ever happened between us hasn’t come from a dramatic intervention or emotional PowerPoint. It’s come from mutual effort, honest feedback, and the kind of slow trust you can’t rush.
In a good marriage, you grow with each other, not for each other.
You offer grace. You build trust. You learn how to ask for what you need instead of passive-aggressively slamming the dishwasher or sighing audibly while folding their laundry wrong (again).
Work isn’t marriage, obviously. But the same relational truth applies: you can’t fix people. You can only build something meaningful with people who are willing to show up and do the work, too.
And if they’re not? You stop exhausting yourself trying to make progress for people who aren’t even trying to move.
The Gentle Takeaway
So, no. I can’t fix him. I can’t fix her. I can’t fix them. I can’t fix the department. I can’t fix the institution. I can’t even manage my own overthinking half the time. So maybe I need to stop trying to manage everyone else’s growth, too.
But I can bring presence instead of pressure. I can bring clarity instead of control. And I can bring hope—not the delusional kind that thinks change is instant, but the grounded kind that knows it’s possible.
I’m learning to see my fixer energy for what it is: a signal that I care deeply. That I want better—for myself and others. And that’s a good thing.
But I’m also learning that leadership means knowing the difference between helping and rescuing.
Between showing up and showing off.
Between being hopeful and being the hero.
I’ll always have a soft spot for people who believe in potential. But now? I save the fixer energy for my own growth.
Because sometimes, the culture that needs the most work…
Is mine.
Rachel L. Richard is a small-town farm girl turned suburbanite, a delightfully irreverent optimist, Mrs & Mama, floppy dog ear scratcher, lifelong learner, channel surfer, wanderer, believer, occasional creative, out-of-practice musician, cupcake addict, book devourer, and lover of all people.
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