You Don't Need Closure to Move On
It's done.
The words said and things done can't be undone, and in as much as it pains you to think it, it's over. There's no going back to what things once were, and you know that - in fact, you think you've even accepted it and made peace with it, but somehow, that chapter yet hasn't ended. Perhaps when you're lying in bed waiting to drop off, or maybe in the shower as a tiny rivulet of water runs down your back, thoughts of… everything find you.
'Find' you being an understatement, of course - it's more like they come rushing at you a mile a minute, slamming you with so much force that for a moment you're caught wondering what's happening. A whirlwind of emotion you'd thought you'd finally overcome - not buried, mind you - lifts you up miles above the ground, and you see even further than before the things that didn't happen, things that could have been…and you question whether you'd just been lying to yourself when you said that you'd made peace with the past. But you'd been so sure…so you confide in someone, or take to Google, or maybe it's because you've heard it on TV - whatever way it is, you find what you think is the answer: closure.
Stop right there and repeat after me: the need for closure is a myth.
It certainly is a very coveted, very human and therefore natural want, but need?
Nah.
Think about it.
We'd like answers - a detailed breakdown of what it was we did wrong, whether it could have turned out differently, what would have happened if you'd said this or they'd done that, maybe even absolution for our mistake - but you know, we're like that with everything. I don't even know where to begin with the anecdotal evidence to make that point here - why do we have scientists and Discovery Channel and do you really think CSI/Bones/Castle/The Mentalist/Hawaii 5.0 would do a fraction of as well as they've done if they never told us who the killer was - so just go along with it because you know it's true, alright?
Our early socialization with Tetris has convinced us of the desirability of leaving no slot unfilled.
We're just conditioned to feel satisfaction at this. It isn't a necessity.
English teachers have lectured us since the beginning of time to not leave 'loose ends' in our stories, while motivational speakers have told us that we're writing our legacies with our time on Earth. Books and movies have spoiled us with 'complete' endings where even the villain gets screen time to show us where they end up…we're so accustomed to it, we want answers so that we can neatly catalog a particular story with all the check boxes for all the possibilities neatly ticked in.
We like to tell ourselves that it's important because it'll help us know what to do in the future, what not to do, what to work on - and I won't argue that that's not a valid want - but that's my point - it's a want. Not a need.
It's already over, isn't it? You were hurt. They were hurt. There were tears. There was pain. There had been laughter. There had been joy…and along with everything else, it's in the past. (Remember, 'closure' is the conclusion of something; not an indirect hopeful attempt at rekindling what had been).
You don't have your 'closure', but darling, hard as it's been, you have been living your life and (sue me for pulling the oldest cliché of all time) the lack of 'closure' doesn't change the fact that the sun still shines and the wind still blows. And it shouldn't stop you, either.
Even after eclipses happen, things then return to normal. It's not a big deal.
We want closure, but we don't need it to move forward.
Because we never stop moving forward. Even if the steps were small and hard, nothing ever came to a standstill. We just didn't see it because we were looking at the same closed door and nothing else.
That's also why we feel like time heals things, 'by itself', if you think about it. It's the same as when you stare at the same mountain continuously while taking miniscule steps away from it - it takes a while to cover a distance large enough to realize it what with our eyes constantly adjusting to the visual, but at one point it does become smaller. Disappears, even. 'By itself'.
Do you see it now?
You're not a broken glass doll that can only be put together by the person who broke you: you're capable of doing that by yourself. In fact, even if others can piece you together, you're the one who knows how to do it best, so you know, maybe that can be your 'good enough' reason to start piecing yourself back together.
By all means, pursue that closure if you're the type that needs to check in all the tick boxes - but please, please, don't hold yourself hostage thinking there's no other way. Life's too short for that and you don't want to find that all the oceans and landscapes in this beautiful universe out there passed you by while you stared at the mountain.
Tear your gaze away.
Pick up the toolbox.
You got this.