Editor’s Note: This essay by Chris Bustos appears with permission from his main site, Unbound Ascent.

“I was just trying to help…”

That’s what I used to say in moments of tension with my wife, usually after offering a list of solutions to a problem she never asked me to solve. What I didn't realize was that my “help” was making us drift apart.

I used to think being a “good man” meant having answers, solutions, a plan, or that the best way to support someone was to remove the problem altogether.

But I’ve learned the hard way and through a lot of self-work, that validation is what builds connection, not solutions.

Like a lot of Latino men, I was raised with an unspoken rule: be useful, be strong, and fix it. Emotions were fine, as long as they didn’t last too long or make anyone uncomfortable.

Growing up, I watched the men in my family handle discomfort by moving past it quickly, either cracking a joke, changing the subject, or flipping the script with toxic positivity. For example, my dad would cover up genuine concern with a quick solution or a forced optimism. If I were struggling with something, he’d say, “Papi, don’t worry, everything’s fine, just work harder,” instead of sitting in the worry with me. To him, that was love, helping me solve it, pushing me through it.

So naturally, I adopted the same pattern. When someone I cared about, especially my wife, was upset, I jumped straight into “solution mode.” I offered advice. I pointed out what they could change. I thought I was being supportive.

But in reality, I wasn’t helping. I was bypassing.

This behavior made me — and many men like me — internalize a dangerous belief that discomfort is a weakness and love’s job is to eliminate it, not to feel it.

One night, my wife came to me venting about a difficult situation with a family member. I immediately jumped in with boundary-setting advice. I told her what she should do, what she could say.

She got quiet. And not the kind of quiet that says, “Wow, you nailed it.”

It was the quiet that says, “You missed me.”

I thought I was helping her “get stronger,” but what she really needed was for me to sit with her frustration and say, “That sounds really hard. I hear you.”

Not fix it. Not frame it. Just feel it with her.

That was the night I started realizing my good intentions weren’t always landing the way I thought they were.

Looking back, this wasn’t just a relationship habit — it was cultural conditioning.

In many Latino households, men are taught that being useful equals being lovable. We’re rewarded for being stoic, solution-oriented, and “low-maintenance.” We learn early that being emotional makes others uncomfortable.

And uncomfortable people pull away.

So what do we do? We become fixers and helpers. We stay busy because sitting still in someone else’s pain, or our own, feels like failure.

I knew I had to change. Ironically, it wasn’t a couples therapist who helped me, it was a parenting book by Dr. Becky Kennedy called “Good Inside.” 

In trying to become a better father, I learned to validate my kids’ emotions before redirecting or disciplining. And then it hit me: This is what my wife needs too, what my friends need, what I need.

Validation isn’t just about saying, “I understand.” It’s about being genuinely curious. Slowing down. Letting the other person stay in their emotion, without trying to pull them out of it for your own comfort.

That was the shift.

I stopped trying to say the “right words” and started being the right presence.

Since then, things have changed, not overnight, but meaningfully. I’ve become more aware of when my “fixer reflex” kicks in. I catch myself wanting to jump in, and I pause instead.

I listen more. I ask, “Do you want advice, or just a safe space to vent?”

And what I’ve found is this: Validation builds trust faster than solutions ever could. It’s not about being passive. It’s about being present. 

Every time I pause instead of fixing, I’m breaking a pattern my father and grandfather never got to. That feels like healing.

If you’ve been the “fixer” your whole life — whether in your relationship, your family, or your friend group — I get it.

You were taught that helping meant solving, that silence was strength, that emotions are messy, and that weakness lives in mess.

But here’s what I’ve learned: Vulnerability is not weakness. It’s courage. Holding space is not passive. It's the most challenging form of emotional leadership.

Listening is not less. It’s a language of love.

Sometimes the strongest thing we can do is feel something fully without trying to fix it. And sometimes, what the people we love need most is for us to stay in the mess with them long enough to show them they’re not alone.

If this resonated with you, I’d love to hear your story in the comments.

Chris Bustos is a Latino father and business coach who helps professionals and entrepreneurs scale their businesses without sacrificing family time or personal well-being. His work focuses on redefining success through clarity, boundaries, and purpose-driven growth.

Bovino Order: From WTTW, “Border Patrol chief Greg Bovino, who has led a series of increasingly aggressive raids across Chicago and the suburbs and fired tear gas at protesters in Little Village, must obtain and wear a body-worn camera and report every weekday at 6 p.m. in person to the federal judge who has tried to rein in federal agents’ use of force.”

Julio Ricardo Varela edited and published this edition of The Latino Newsletter.

The Latino Newsletter welcomes opinion pieces in English and/or Spanish from community voices. Submission guidelines are here. The views expressed by outside opinion contributors do not necessarily reflect the editorial views of this outlet or its employees.