(or: Why Bob the Builder Needs to Sit the Heck Down)
Some of us were raised on emotional construction work.
See a mess? Grab a wrench.
Someone crying? Hand them your peace.
A relationship falling apart? That is your cue to climb into the rubble with a toolkit and an apology for existing.
We think that if we can understand the person who hurt us, we can fix them.
We become experts in their moods, their childhoods, their triggers — the full architectural blueprint of their chaos — while forgetting we are not their therapist or their saviour. We are just the ones holding the flashlight.
It feels noble, does it not?
Like compassion in motion.
But it is also self-erasure disguised as empathy.
You cannot fix what you did not break.
You cannot heal someone by bleeding slower than they do.
And you sure as hell cannot love a person into accountability.
The moment you start explaining away harm with “but they have been through so much,” you have signed up for night shifts in an emotional construction site that was condemned years ago.
And when the walls collapse again, you will still be standing there, covered in dust, wondering why the hell you are the one holding the hammer.
You do not owe anyone rehabilitation.
You owe yourself recovery.
Their healing is not your homework.
So, Bob the Builder — sit the heck down.
Put the tools away.
Let people fix themselves or fall apart on their own timetable.
You are allowed to leave the wreckage behind, wipe the soot off your hands, and start building something that is actually yours.
