The Fix-It Reflex

When doing more doesn’t move you forward

Still Holding the Hammer

I didn’t feel like myself, so I did what I always do. Made a list, got busy, and tried not to think too much. Ticking off jobs around the house gave me relief. I felt useful and in control. Like maybe I was getting back on top of things.

But after a while, I was finding even the simplest tasks difficult to complete.

I remember standing in the backyard, halfway through re-laying some pavers. I just stood there for nearly an hour, staring at the ground, trying to figure out what came next. Not because it was hard, I’d done it before, but because my brain had slowed to a crawl.

I no longer was feeling better. I just felt frustrated.

I realised I wasn’t fixing anything, I was just distracting myself.

Reflex to Repair

It’s a coping mechanism that’s wired into many men.

We have to do something to feel better.
Problem? Solve It.
Weakness? Work harder.
Sadness? Shake it off.

Even today, we are often rewarded for solving problems.
In work, sport, even friendship, fixing things earns respect.
You feel useful. It feels strong.

That mindset gets reinforced.
“I’ll rest when the job’s done.”
“I can’t fall apart, I haven’t earned that luxury.”
“Other people have it worse, so I should be fine.”

Over time we come to believe emotional relief is something that is earned through action. So when you start to struggle, life falls apart, you feel the weight on your shoulders, the instinct isn’t to pause and feel it.

It’s to fix-it. Fast. Quietly. Alone.

Momentum in the Mess

Sometimes the fix-it instinct does help, especially on tough days. Routines, fitness and logic can give us a sense of structure when we’re feeling off. It helps us regain control and gives us some small wins when the bigger picture feels shaky.

Getting out for a walk. Hitting the gym. Cleaning the garage. Calling a mate to help solve a practical issue. These things can genuinely shift your mindset. They bring clarity, energy, and structure, especially when life feels messy. Just think about the times at work where you fixated on a problem and how you felt when it was solved. It was invigorating, not just because the issue was resolved, but because it reminded you of your capability and worth.

That’s because action can calm the nervous system. It reminds us that we can still move forward, even in small ways. When the problem is a foggy head or a lack of direction, doing something can make you feel alive again.

It’s good for surface level struggles, or as support while recovering. A solid routine can be a great foundation for healing.

But it can’t fix an emotional wound that hasn’t even been acknowledged.

When Control Cracks

When you’ve been low for weeks, when everything feels heavy, and even small tasks take effort, the fix-it instinct doesn’t work like it used to. At first, it might look like you’re coping. You stay busy, you make progress on tasks. But something still doesn't feel right.

The truth is, you can’t schedule your way out of sadness. You can’t optimise your way through grief. There comes a point when trying to fix yourself becomes a distraction from actually feeling what’s wrong.

You start skipping the hard questions. Instead of asking, "What am I really feeling?" you focus on what can be ticked off the list. It's easier to manage a checklist than it is to manage pain. But that pain doesn’t go away, it waits. And often, it shows up elsewhere: short temper, poor sleep, withdrawal, burnout.

Stuffing things down doesn’t make them go away. It just buries them deep, where they start messing with your focus, mood, and energy.

In many cases, what we’re experiencing is one of the body’s survival responses:
Fight – “push through it,” get aggressive with routines, double down on control.
Flight – Avoiding emotions by staying busy or distracted.
Freeze – That moment with the pavers, stuck, unable to move forward.
Flop – Numbness, shutdown, giving up. Often the result when fixing fails repeatedly.
Fawn – Doing everything for others to avoid facing your own pain.

You wouldn’t run on a broken ankle. So why try to push through this?

Avoidance dressed up as self-improvement is still avoidance.

Beneath the Armour

Real recovery doesn’t start with action. It starts with acceptance.

Begin by acknowledging that you’re struggling, not just physically, but emotionally. That alone takes courage. Don’t rush to fix the feeling, try to identify the feeling. Maybe it's sadness, frustration, anxiety, or something else entirely.

You don't have to get it right, just be honest to yourself and stop hiding from it. Say it out loud. Write it down. That’s not weakness, it's a way of creating clarity and reducing the emotional noise. When you name a feeling, you’re actually calming your brain’s alarm system. It tells your mind: “I see what’s happening here.”

Giving yourself some space isn't about self-pity, it's about respect.

Let yourself rest. Let yourself grieve or feel without an agenda.

You don’t have to fix your way out of every low moment. Some things don’t need solving.

You’re not lazy. You’re not broken. You’re healing. Give it time.
And if it feels too heavy to carry alone, reach out to someone you trust.

Start with naming one feeling and why you feel that way. That’s the first crack in the armour.