Not Everything Needs Fixing

There's this poem by Pavana Reddy I can't stop thinking about. The part that really hits me says:

"You don't need someone to understand your pain... You just need someone who's willing to help you carry it."

That's it. That's what holding space is—at least, that's what I think it is.

No fixing, no "here's what you should do," no checklist to make it all better.

Just someone who sits with you in the mess of it. It sounds simple. It's not.

Over the weekend, I was with a group of women (they are like my sisters) who just get me.

We were talking about this decision I've been struggling to make. On paper, it's obvious—I know what I need to do.

Logically, it makes sense. But emotionally? That's a different story. It feels impossible.

And I couldn't even fully explain why.

But the thing is, I didn't have to. They just... listened.

No interruptions,

No "Have you tried this?"

No "But maybe if you just—"

None of that. They just let me sit in it. They let me say, "I know what I need to do, but I can't make myself do it yet." And instead of telling me to get on with it, or offering some life hack to make it easier, they just let me feel it.

Do you know how rare that is?

Most of the time, when you share something hard, people go straight into problem-solving mode.

And I get it, I really do.

People want to help.

They want to make things better.

But sometimes, that help feels like it's more about making them feel less uncomfortable—like they can't handle just sitting in the heaviness with you.

Holding space is different.

Holding space is saying....

I see you.

I hear you.

And I don't need you to tidy this up for my sake.

I've spent so much time explaining myself to people who just don't quite get me.

And I'm tired.

Not in a dramatic, cutting-people-off kind of way. Just... tired of trying so hard to be understood.

Some people are wired to fix, and that's fine. I don't judge them for it.

I still love them.

They're still my people. But they're just not the ones I turn to when I need someone to just be with me in it.

They don't get the closest seats in my life.

And that's not about resentment. It's about peace.

This blog? This is part of that peace, too. It's not something I'm putting out there for attention. No comments. No "subscribe here." No pressure to perform.

Just a space where I can be honest with myself. I share it with a few people—not because I need validation, but because I want them to see me. Some people read it. Some don't. Both are fine. I'm not attached to the outcome.

When I think about the people who hold space for me, like yesterday, I realise how much that matters. They remind me that I don't have to carry everything alone.

And that's why this poem keeps echoing in my head.

It's not about shared pain. It's about shared presence.

Just someone willing to say, I see you. I'm here. You don't have to explain it all.

I think I'm learning to do that for myself, too.

To stop forcing, stop fixing, and just... be.