The Myth of Closure (and What to Practice Instead)

We are taught to want closure the way we want clean air after smoke—
as if grief is something that lingers only because we failed to finish it properly.

Closure is a story we tell ourselves so the ache will feel less embarrassing.
A promise that if we just find the right meaning, the right forgiveness, the right version of acceptance… the hurt will finally stop asking for our attention.

But grief doesn’t work like that.
Neither does healing.

Some experiences do not end neatly.
Some love does not pack itself into a finished chapter.
Some losses don’t “resolve”—they change shape, and then they live alongside us.

Closure is not a requirement for peace.
Sometimes, it’s not even possible.

And sometimes… it’s not the point.

Closure vs. Continuation

Closure implies a door shutting.
A lock. A period at the end of the sentence.

But many of us aren’t living through stories that end.
We’re living through stories that keep echoing.

The person you lost.
The version of you that existed before that phone call.
The time you didn’t get back.
The friendship that dissolved without an explanation.
The life you thought you would have.

Those things don’t disappear.

They become rooms in the house of you.

And the question isn’t how do I close the door forever?
It’s:

How do I walk past that door without collapsing?
How do I carry this without turning to stone?
How do I stay soft and still survive?

What to Practice Instead: Gentle Completion

Instead of closure, try gentle completion.

Not “I’m done with this.”
But: “I am learning how to live with this.”

Gentle completion is a ritual of making space.
Of recognizing what is unfinished and choosing not to punish yourself for it.

It looks like:

• letting the memory exist without trying to fix it

• letting yourself miss someone without needing to justify it

• letting your feelings be complicated

• letting your healing be nonlinear

Gentle completion says:

This mattered. This hurts. And I’m still here.

A Small Ritual for Letting Something Stay Unfinished

You don’t need candles or crystals for this (though you can use them if it helps).
You just need a quiet moment and a willingness to be honest.

Step 1: Choose the thing you keep trying to “close”

Not the biggest thing.
Just one thread you keep tugging at in your mind.

A conversation.
A goodbye you didn’t get.
A person you still dream about.
An ending you didn’t understand.

Write it at the top of a page:

“I keep looking for closure about…”

Step 2: Name what closure is trying to protect you from

Finish the sentence:

“I think if I had closure, I wouldn’t have to feel…”

Let it be messy. Let it be true.
You might find you’re not searching for closure—
you’re searching for relief.

Step 3: Replace closure with permission

Write one of these and fill it in:

• “I may never understand, and I’m allowed to rest anyway.”

• “I may never get answers, and I’m allowed to keep living.”

• “This may stay tender, and I am still safe.”

• “I can stop trying to solve what cannot be solved.”

Step 4: Create a closing gesture (not a closing door)

Choose one small action to mark the moment:

• fold the page and place it under a book

• close your journal gently with both hands

• take three slow breaths

• wash your hands (a soft reset)

• step outside for one minute and let the air touch your face

Not to end the grief.
Just to end the fight.

Prompts for the Days You’re Tired of Carrying It

If you want to go deeper without spiraling, try these:

• What part of me is still waiting for something that isn’t coming?

• What do I wish someone had said to me back then?

• What do I need to hear today that doesn’t require anyone else?

• If I stopped searching for closure, what would I do with the energy I get back?

• What would it look like to live with this, instead of living against it?

You’re Not Behind

If you’re still grieving something from years ago, you’re not broken.
If you still feel it in your body, you’re not failing.

You are not “stuck.”
You’re just human in a world that expects emotional neatness.

Some things don’t end.
They soften.
They return.
They change you.

And maybe the goal was never closure.

Maybe the goal was learning how to love your own life again—
even with the unfinished parts still inside it.

May you stop demanding certainty from your pain.
May you find peace without a final answer.
May you be held, even in the unresolved.

— Hex & Habit 🖤✨