Blessing Is Not Fixing

I noticed something in myself this week.

I felt hurt.
And I felt angry.

Not because someone disagreed with me, but because I was quietly placed below—evaluated without being met. The kind of moment where judgment appears easily, but presence is unavailable. Where improvement is suggested, but relationship is not offered.

What struck me wasn’t the moment itself, but how familiar the structure felt.

I’ve been noticing how often hierarchy hides inside helpfulness. How suggestions for “what’s next” or “what might help” can function as a way of keeping someone in motion—never quite allowed to arrive as they are. Worth becomes something adjacent, something pending.

And I noticed how old that story is.

Stories about who escapes.
Stories about who needs fixing.
Stories about who carries value and who is meant to aspire toward it.

These stories don’t usually begin with malice. They are inherited—passed quietly through families, cultures, and economic frames. They organize how people offer help, how they withhold attention, and how they decide who stands beside them versus who stands below.

What I noticed most clearly, though, was the difference between fixing and blessing.

In my meditation school, we are taught to see the sacredness in people and things first. Not as denial. Not as bypass. But as orientation. From that place, we offer a blessing, often beginning with may you…

A blessing is not an instruction.
It is not a correction.
It is not a diagnosis.

A blessing respects curvature. It acknowledges that coherence—true relational alignment—cannot be forced. It may shift. It may not. And either way, the offering does not require the giver to abandon themselves or contort to make something resolve.

Fixing, on the other hand, assumes hierarchy. It assumes someone knows better. It assumes movement is required before rest is permitted.

Blessing says: I see you as already real.
Fixing says: You will be real once you change.

That distinction matters.

I noticed that my anger wasn’t asking me to punish or withdraw my humanity. It was asking me to protect my sovereignty—to stop offering my inner life to spaces that default to assessment rather than meeting.

And I noticed something else, quieter and steadier underneath:

I don’t need to be fixed.
I don’t need to be evaluated.
I want to be met.

Not everyone can do that. And that’s not a moral failure—it’s a limitation of coherence. Sometimes alignment forms. Sometimes it doesn’t. Learning to let that be true without hardening is part of the practice.

So I find myself returning to blessing—not as performance, but as boundary.

May you find ease where striving has ruled.
May you rest from measuring.
May you meet others without standing above or below.

And may I remember that my worth does not require agreement, improvement, or approval to be intact.

Some relationships soften when offered this.
Some do not.

Both outcomes teach me where coherence lives—and where it does not ask me to follow.

→Blessing Is Not Fixing: Coherence Without Hierarchy