closure is a myth

When I first started my healing journey, I truly believed that 'closure is a myth' was something I just told myself to feel better. I thought there was a magical moment, a conversation, or an apology that would finally give me permission to move on. It felt almost surreal to consider healing without that definitive ending, especially after experiencing deep trauma. My mind kept replaying scenarios, yearning for answers or validation from the other person or situation. This relentless pursuit often left me feeling more stuck and frustrated. But what I slowly began to realize is that true healing is an internal process, not an external event. The idea that closure is something someone else gives you, or that a specific event will bring it, often keeps us trapped in a cycle of waiting. Instead of waiting for an apology that might never come, or an explanation that might not satisfy, I learned to redefine what closure meant for me. It became about accepting what happened, acknowledging my pain, and consciously choosing to release the need for external validation. One of the biggest shifts for me was understanding that seeking closure can sometimes be a way of avoiding the real work of self-healing. It's easier to blame someone else or wait for their actions than to sit with your own discomfort and process your emotions. I started practicing radical acceptance, not condoning what happened, but accepting that it did happen and I couldn't change the past. This acceptance was incredibly liberating, even though it felt disorienting at first – like stepping into an unknown territory without a map. To navigate this seemingly surreal path, I developed a few strategies. Journaling became my confidante, a safe space to vent frustrations, explore feelings, and process thoughts without judgment. I wrote letters I never sent, expressing everything I wished I could say. This helped me to get those thoughts out of my head and onto paper, giving them a form and then releasing their hold. Another crucial step was setting strong boundaries. This meant not engaging in conversations that triggered old wounds or seeking out people who couldn't offer what I needed. Protecting my peace became a priority, and sometimes that meant saying no to people or situations that didn't serve my healing. It was tough, but necessary. Finally, I focused on building a life that felt good *now*. Instead of waiting for closure to start living, I started living. I engaged in activities I loved, surrounded myself with supportive people, and practiced self-compassion. Healing isn't linear; there are good days and bad days. But by letting go of the myth of external closure, and embracing the internal work, I found a profound sense of peace and strength. It transformed my understanding of healing from a destination into an ongoing journey, one that I now navigate with self-awareness and resilience.