Many of us learned to “fix” others as a way to try to stay safe in an environment where adults were unsafe.

The desire to try to fix the people you love may come from childhood wounds.

Developing healthier boundaries, not rescuing, can create healthier relationships.

As children, we quickly sensed that keeping the peace was important to our safety. We learned that anticipating the moods or desires of those in power or making sure to take care of everyone else’s feelings could prevent conflict or abandonment. We became the helpers, the mediators, the “mature ones.”

But this was often a form of survival. Over time, this role followed us into adulthood, shaping our relationships. Many survivors of traumatic or abusive environments carry this pattern into their adult relationships, trying to fix their partners as an unconscious attempt to heal the wounds left by unsafe caregivers from the past. We believed that if we could manage everyone else’s pain, we might finally earn stability or protection from our caregivers. These strategies helped us survive childhood. But in adulthood, they can quietly turn into over-giving, which turns into blurred boundaries.

Boundaries Mean Accepting How Others Choose to Heal

Healing from family trauma is deeply personal. And part of that journey is recognizing that people in your life, such as partners or friends, might not be on the same path. They may not want to heal the way you do, or healing may not be something they seek at all.

This can be one of the hardest truths to face, especially when you care deeply about them and you want the best for them. Some may still be stuck in denial, avoidance, or old patterns, while others may not see their own wounds clearly enough to acknowledge they need healing. These are experiences many of us can relate to, as they are defenses or mindsets we may have once held ourselves.

Some survivors become stuck in this area of healing, thinking that they are helping others by “trying to help them heal.” I see this a lot with clients who want desperately to get their partner to heal their own trauma wounds, so they push them to do the work. Then this becomes an all-consuming thing where the person takes on the responsibility of healing and pushes them by suggesting therapy, even making appointments for their partners.

When we push our partner to heal, we may unknowingly be replaying old, painful dynamics from childhood—specifically, the longing we once felt for a parent or caregiver to do their own healing work. As children, we are wired to see the best in our parents. Even if love or kindness was rarely—if ever—shown, we often sensed the potential for it. We clung to hope: “If only they would change… if only they could see I need them.” That hope helped us stay attached, believing that one day they might wake up and become the emotionally safe, nurturing figures we so deeply needed. And for many of us, that hope still lingers today.

Now, as adults, we might fall into the same pattern with our partners. We see their unresolved wounds, but also their ability to heal—just like we once saw these things in our parents. And because we love them, we try to make them see it, too. We offer resources, encourage therapy, or maybe we even try to absorb some of their emotional burdens, believing that if we just try hard enough, they’ll change. There it is again—that familiar hope: “If only…”

But this recreates the same powerless dynamic we experienced as children: wanting them to heal so we can finally feel safe.

The hard truth is that no amount of love or effort can force someone else to heal. And when we try, we don’t just stall our own growth, we stay stuck in the role of the caretaker, the hero, or even the enabler, repeating a pattern we swore we’d break. Just as our parents' journey was theirs alone, our partner’s healing is ultimately their responsibility.

It can be incredibly difficult to accept this, especially when you long for deeper connections with partners or a sense of closure with family members. But part of healing is learning to set boundaries around what you can control, and letting go of the need to force others to heal in a way that aligns with your expectations. This doesn’t mean you stop caring or that you abandon hope for your loved ones, but it does mean that you stop taking on the responsibility for their healing. You can offer love, compassion, and support, but ultimately, each person is responsible for their own process.

Breaking this pattern of "fixing" involves understanding two hard but freeing truths:

First, we can’t do the healing for others, no matter how deeply we love them.

Second, our safety and worth can’t depend on someone else’s growth.

This post is adapted from my book The Cycle Breaker's Guide to Healthy Relationships.

© Psychology Today