The Obsession With Fixing Ourselves

In this country we like to fix things.

Depressed? Here’s a pill.
Stressed? You need to calm down.
Lonely? You’re too isolated—you should be more social.
Addicted? You’re in denial.

We identify the symptom, apply a solution, and move on.

In medicine, this approach has a name: pathogenic care. Pathogenic thinking asks a very specific question: What’s wrong here and how do we fix or prevent it? It’s oriented around breakdown, malfunction, and risk. And in many situations, it’s essential. When someone is sick or injured, this mindset saves lives.

The problem isn’t pathogenic care itself. The problem is that we’ve carried it far beyond the clinic.

We now use the same logic in our relationships, our families, our workplaces, and even in how we talk to ourselves. Stress becomes a problem to eliminate. Conflict becomes something to solve. Emotions become symptoms to manage. People become projects to fix.

So when someone is overwhelmed, the pathogenic question becomes: How do we make this stop?
When someone is depressed: What’s wrong with them?
When someone is lonely: Why aren’t they trying harder?
When someone is stuck in an addictive pattern: How do we get them to change?

This isn’t because we’re cold or uncaring. Most of the time, it comes from a genuine desire to help. Fixing feels active, responsible, and efficient. It gives us something to do in the face of discomfort.

It’s also a narrow way of understanding human experience.

In the 1970s, a medical sociologist named Aaron Antonovsky began asking a different question. Instead of focusing on why people get sick, he became curious about why some people stay well—even after prolonged stress, loss, or trauma. What he found wasn’t positive thinking or toughness. It was orientation. People did better when life felt at least somewhat understandable, manageable, and connected to something that mattered.

This way of thinking became known as salutogenic care—care oriented toward the conditions that support health, rather than just the removal of symptoms.

In applying that framework, the questions change.

Instead of What’s wrong here? a salutogenic approach asks: Does this make sense given the circumstances?
Instead of How do we fix this? it asks: What would help this person feel more oriented or supported right now?
Instead of Why isn’t this working? it asks: What resources are missing—or already present but unnoticed?

That contrast matters in everyday life. A pathogenic response tries to make distress go away. A salutogenic response tries to help someone stay intact while they move through it. One focuses on correction. The other on capacity.

You can feel the difference immediately. Being told to calm down rarely helps someone feel calmer. Being told what you should do when you’re struggling often adds pressure instead of relief. Even good advice can feel like judgment if it arrives before understanding.

A more salutogenic response sounds simpler—and harder. It starts with making sense of what’s happening. It notices whether a person has any room to breathe, any sense of agency, any connection to meaning. It asks whether this reaction fits the context, instead of treating it as a malfunction.

This doesn’t mean never offering solutions. It means not leading with them. It means recognizing that most people don’t need fixing nearly as often as they need orientation, safety, and support.

We live in a culture that prizes solutions. But human beings aren’t mechanical systems, and distress isn’t always a problem to eliminate. Often, it’s a signal that something meaningful is under strain.

Pathogenic care will always have its place. But when it becomes our default way of relating, we confuse care with correction.

And in doing so, we often miss what actually helps people stay human under pressure.