Once upon a time, there was a little fairy who never went anywhere without her trusty crazy glue. Known as a fixer amongst the fairy people, this little sprite had the knack to mend wings and wounds. Her crazy glue was a magical mixture, a special secret recipe known for its healing powers. Tucked in the pockets of her bright blue fairy dress, she always had access to it. The key, she had learned as she accepted her role within the fairy family, was to help others learn how to apply the glue themselves. It blended in much better that way. Help them mend their own brokenness....Yes, she was known as the crazy glue fairy....the fixer. It was expected of her. It was what she expected of herself. Sometimes she'd make the mistake of trying to mend when she wasn't invited to and when that happened, she was tisked away, dismissed and admonished. She tried hard not to do this, not to jump in when she wasn't wanted but her desire to help others coupled with her intuitive ability to see the need sometimes overwhelms her rational thinking.
Her biggest challenges were the internal rips which were difficult to see and more difficult to stop the bleeding. Sometimes she was successful in helping the wounded fairy become more whole. Sometimes all she could do was offer a couple of dabs of her glue before the fairy would be off and away.
There were a few hurts though which stumped her abilities, and try as she might there was no way to help those internal bleeds. This upset her beyond description because for a long time she thought her gifts were wanted and were enough to mend and to fix most everything. But after trying and trying and trying.....looking at the wound from many different angles, offering up her hope and ideas, creating new potions of her crazy glue, hitting up against walls of unacceptance, she grew so tired of fighting against the rejection she felt from the wounded.
It was a emotionally difficult realization that the fairy's crazy glue wasn't wanted and that some of the other fairies were actually afraid of her take chargeness. It left her feeling completely at odds with how she had pictured herself, with what she thought was expected and warmly welcomed. After a while, her sadness turned into resignation as she realized her crazy glue fixing was seen as threatening...
Somehow what she thought she was doing was a good thing had turned into a problem. As much as she tried to remind herself that her role as a fixer was only a part of who she was, it was too entrenched in her own definition of herself. What would she do if she couldn't fix? How would she deal with this and did she have the strength to let go of the role and move onto something else?
Funny though, she was sick and tired of being the fixer. The problem was......what was she supposed to do with all that crazy glue? And what would she do to replace her role as fixer? Its all she's ever known.
Alone and so exhausted, she sat down surrounded by her own self pity and feel asleep thinking about the wounds she failed to fix and wondering if she was a phoney fixer all along. She could feel an internal rip and she didn't know if she could tend to it anymore. Perhaps it was time to let it bleed. She laid down, pulled her wings in and her legs up and went to sleep.