We talk about closure as though it’s something we need to receive.
One final conversation.
An explanation.
An apology.
An acknowledgement that what happened really did hurt.
Then we’ll be able to move on.
And it makes sense. When something ends without the answers we needed — a relationship, a friendship, a family connection, a job, or simply a chapter of our lives — our minds don’t particularly like the loose ends.
We want to understand.
Why did you do that?
Did I matter to you?
Do you realise how much that hurt me?
Was any of it real?
Are you sorry?
Sometimes we even know exactly what we need the other person to say.
The problem is, while we’re waiting for them to say it, we can stay stuck.
We replay old conversations. We imagine new ones. We check for messages. We think about what we would say if we bumped into them. We mentally rewrite the ending, hoping that somehow, eventually, everything will make sense.
And without meaning to, we can hand the other person an enormous amount of power.
Because if we believe we need their apology, their explanation or their understanding before we can move forward, then they get to decide how long we stand still.
And some people simply aren’t going to give us what we need.
They might not be capable of taking responsibility. They might remember things differently. They might have their own version of what happened. They might not want the conversation.
Sometimes, painfully, they may no longer be here to have it.
And even when we do get the conversation we’ve been waiting for, it doesn’t always feel the way we imagined.
The explanation might not explain enough.
The apology might feel hollow.
They might say all the wrong things.
Or we might walk away realising there was never going to be a sentence they could say that would undo what happened.
Maybe that’s because closure isn’t really about finding the perfect ending.
Maybe it’s about accepting that this is the ending we got.
That doesn’t mean forgiving someone who hurt you.
It doesn’t mean deciding that what happened was okay.
It doesn’t mean forgetting, never feeling angry again or never wondering why.
And it certainly doesn’t mean that wanting answers was unreasonable.
It just means recognising when waiting for those answers is costing you more than not having them.
Sometimes closure might be saying:
I may never understand why.
I may never get the apology I deserved.
They may never understand my side of it.
There are questions here that might always be unanswered.
And I’m going to live my life anyway.
Because there’s a difference between something being unresolved and you having to remain there with it.
You can take what you know.
You can take what you learned.
You can grieve what you hoped it would be.
And you can leave the unanswered bits behind.
Before you go…
Maybe there’s a door in your own life that you’re still standing beside.
If there is, ask yourself:
What am I waiting for them to give me before I allow myself to move forward?
Because sometimes closure isn’t something another person gives us.
Sometimes it’s the moment we realise:
I don’t have to keep standing at an open door waiting for somebody else to close it.