0
Share on bsky
“Letting go means coming to the realization that some people are a part of your history, but not a part of your destiny.” ~ Steve Maraboli
~
If there is one thing we human beings crave after a relationship ends, it’s closure.
We long for something tangible—a conversation, a reason, an explanation—anything that can help us stitch together the gaps left behind.
When something that once meant so much suddenly ends, our first instinct is to search for a narrative that makes sense of it all. We find ourselves asking endless questions: Why did this happen? Could I have done anything differently? Was it my fault? Was it theirs? Could it have been saved if I had tried harder, been better, or loved differently?
It’s almost as if our mind becomes a courtroom where we keep revisiting the same case, hoping for a different verdict. We look for someone to blame, some justification to soften the blow. We try to find a place to deposit our emotions, a person to hand them to, or a sentence that explains away the chaos inside us. Because as human beings, we don’t just experience love with the heart, we also need our minds to make sense of it.
Part of this need comes from how our brains are wired. The human brain has a natural resistance to unfinished stories. We are designed to want resolution, an ending that feels complete. Psychologists call this the Zeigarnik effect—the mind’s tendency to hold on to incomplete or interrupted experiences far more strongly than ones that are finished. Think of it like a song that stops playing right before the final chorus—you can’t help but hum it in your head until you resolve it. That’s what an unfinished relationship does to us: it plays on repeat, with no closure to quiet the noise.
But a relationship ending is not the same as a song being cut off. It is heavier, more layered, because when a bond breaks, it doesn’t just leave behind unanswered questions, it leaves behind fragments of ourselves scattered all over the floor. When someone exits suddenly, when they refuse accountability, or when the relationship dissolves in ambiguity, it shakes our sense of identity. The small cracks in our self-worth become deeper dents. We feel incomplete because something that was once part of our everyday life is suddenly absent, and the brain keeps asking: Where did it go? What did it mean? How do I make sense of this void?
This is why we so desperately seek closure. We believe that if we can just get that one last conversation, that one clear explanation, it will act as the glue to put us back together. We think closure is the missing piece of the puzzle, the thing that will help us breathe again. And so, we go over and over the memories. We replay conversations word for word. We analyze the silences, the text messages, the fights, the reconciliations. We tell ourselves: If I just understand it enough, I’ll feel better.
But that’s not how it works. Ruminating doesn’t soothe the wound, it only keeps it raw. The more we revisit the story, the more entangled we become in it. Instead of moving forward, we anchor ourselves to the past. Sometimes, months and even years pass by and we find ourselves still stuck in the loop, hoping the answers will magically heal us.
The pain is sharper when the relationship was unclear. If the other person never defined what you were, if their words and actions never aligned, or if they disappeared without warning, the ambiguity cuts deeper. It leaves you with empty hands and an overflowing mind. In such cases, the default response is to turn inward and blame ourselves. Maybe it was me. Maybe I wasn’t enough. Maybe I expected too much. And if you were already carrying low self-worth, the lack of closure feels like a confirmation of your worst fears.
But here’s the truth we often forget: closure doesn’t come from them. It can’t. It has to come from you because explanations don’t heal. Feeling the pain and letting it go heals and that’s something that only you can do.
Think of it this way: imagine you left the door to your room open. Someone walked in without permission, made a mess, broke a few things, and then walked out, leaving the door wide open. You’re sitting there, waiting for them to return, clean up the damage, and close the door behind them. But the door is yours. The room is yours. No matter what explanation they give, whether it’s logical, heartfelt, or even sincere, will it undo the damage that’s already been done? Even if they say all the right things, will it take away your pain entirely? The answer is no. Because closure isn’t about their words—it’s about your healing.
Explanations, no matter how thorough, don’t erase heartbreak. They don’t erase the years you spent hoping, or the energy you invested, or the version of yourself you gave away. At best, they provide context. But the ache, the emptiness, the sense of something unfinished, that doesn’t vanish with someone else’s reasoning. Which is why, even after getting the so-called “closure conversation,” many people still find themselves replaying events in 20 different ways, still stuck in the “what ifs” and “whys.”
That’s why closure has to come from within you. It’s not about someone else coming back to fix what they broke. It’s about you deciding to stop waiting at the open door, to stop expecting the person who walked out to also be the one to make things right. Closure is the choice to close the door yourself, to gather your pieces, and to begin rebuilding—not the room as it was, but the room as you want it to be now.
And while this is hard, there are ways to help yourself move toward self-closure:
1. Allow yourself to grieve: Don’t rush the healing. Give yourself space to feel the pain, the loss, and the disappointment instead of pushing it away.
2. Accept unanswered questions: Some “whys” may never be resolved. Write them down, acknowledge them, and release the need to keep circling back.
3. Reframe the story: Instead of “Why did this happen to me?” try asking “What did this teach me about myself?” This shift brings growth out of the pain.
4. Practice self-forgiveness: Forgive yourself for not seeing red flags sooner, for staying too long, or for trying too hard. You did the best you could with what you knew then.
5. Create a personal ritual: Write a letter you don’t send, close a door physically, light a candle, or do any symbolic act that marks the ending for you. Rituals help the brain register completion.
6. Reclaim your power: Stop waiting for them to fix what broke. Start choosing daily actions, however small, that remind you of your own worth.
7. Commit to yourself first: Build a relationship with yourself that feels loving, steady, and safe. When you stop abandoning yourself, you stop longing for closure from someone else.
Closure doesn’t mean the pain disappears overnight. It means you stop waiting for someone else to heal you. It means you gather your pieces and put yourself back together in new ways. It means you accept that while you cannot change the ending, you can change what you carry from it into your next beginning.
~
This account does not have permission to comment on Elephant Journal.
Contact support with questions.