Unfixed, by Kimberly Warner

Started Kimberly Warner ’s memoir today, and thought I’d be reading it slowly, but I ended up being swept up in her beautiful writing and story.

I don’t often find myself nodding along as I read. Certain parts, though, were so relatable, I couldn’t help it. The delete button? Yes. The shrinking myself in response to the more chaotic members of my family? Yes. Not having a map for grief? Yes.

And ok, I’ve only finished part one so far, but Unfixed already has my heart. It holds so much of what I already know of Kimberly herself: tenderness, resilience, hope, acceptance—yes, even amidst pain.

Update (23 Feb 2026):

I finished Part II. This part hit really close to home for me in many ways. (SPOILER ALERT) At the end of chapter 10, Kimberly shares about volunteering her budding film-making skills for a grief support organisation. She writes about developing a theatre troupe, and a group of young adults who perform a skit about grief. In one part of the skit, the actors go, "Turn around if you'd give up everything you've learned since your person died, in order to have them back," and none of them turn. The idea being that in spite of the pain and heartache, grief made them better people.

I don't think I'm there yet. While I agree that in some ways, I'm probably better, overall, I don't know if I am. Of course, it's not so black-and-white, which is the point of the skit. But, I feel like I used to be softer.

In another part, Kimberly writes about her to-be husband's disabled daughter, Sydney:

"Parenting a child with intellectual disability, he's learned that life is messy, outcomes unpredictable, often unwanted."

And then, "I don't know how to get to her, and the absence of that knowing panics me." That line especially caused almost a visceral reaction. I've never heard anyone describe so clearly how it feels to try to connect with a child—my child—with a disability. Why it's so frustrating, but underneath that frustration, so utterly frightening.

I'm in awe.

Update (26 Feb 2026):

Complete. Review:

Kimberly's memoir, Unfixed, is an embrace, a hand holding you through a churning sea. And she herself embodies the kind of grace, resilience, and compassion that comes off every page.

The book is a story about what happens when a life shatters and you’re left with just the pieces lying around you—how you take these fragments and still create a whole life, a whole identity.

“…a midlife DNA test reveals that the man who raised her isn’t her biological father…” and “As she unravels the secrets hidden beneath her family’s story…A mysterious illness takes hold, leaving her adrift in dizziness…”

With tenderness and hope and absolutely beautiful writing, Kimberly traverses unknown waters of chronic illness and identity, and finds that wholeness isn’t about having it all together, or having a perfect resolution, but about embracing and being present.