Learning to Be Okay with Unfinished Chapters

Accepting that closure isn’t always necessary..

It took a few punches to the gut for me to finally understand that when things end, not everyone will say sorry. Not because they didn’t hurt you, but because they don’t know how to accept their part in causing your pain. For some, it’s easier to act like nothing happened, to move in silence while you sit with the weight of what’s left unsaid. It’s unfair, but one of life’s hardest lessons is learning to detach and let go.

During my last breakup, the pain cut deeper than I expected. Our relationship began like something out of a movie—serendipitous, wildly romantic, the kind of love I thought was rare. It felt like something that would take us places. But when things got hard, our insecurities surfaced, and the small sparks of distrust we ignored grew into flames. In the end, the damage was too great. The foundation of the home I was building with them disappeared overnight, destroyed by the wildfire that consumed us. So we walked away. No proper goodbye. No clarity. Just silence.

And that silence hurt more than anything.

I found myself trapped in the in-between, missing someone who had already moved on while still clinging to some fragile hope. Maybe they’d remember what we had. Maybe they’d want to find peace. But as time passed, I wondered—if my presence truly mattered, wouldn’t my absence echo just a little? Another day of “no contact” for me was just another regular day for them. I struggled to accept that this was how it ended, that something so significant could dissolve without acknowledgment.

Growing up, I believed closure was a right. That if I loved someone deeply and showed up with honesty, I was owed a final conversation, a reason, an acknowledgment of what we shared. I wanted awareness, accountability for their part in the chaos, and appreciation for my effort to keep the door open. But I’ve learned that closure isn’t always given. Sometimes, it’s something you have to give yourself.

Not everyone offers closure, and not everyone believes they owe it. Some choose silence because it’s easier than sitting with their own guilt. Some walk away without explanation, and there’s nothing you can do to change that. That’s a bitter pill to swallow, especially when you care deeply. Especially when you replay conversations in your head, rewriting them until both people say what was needed to feel heard. But at some point, you have to stop waiting for the version of the story that never arrives. Stop hoping they’ll return with the missing puzzle piece. Instead, accept that you have to rebuild something new on your own.

There’s power in saying: I don’t need closure from you. I’m giving it to myself.

Closure can look like choosing to stop checking your phone for a message that isn’t coming.
It can be unfollowing someone without announcing it.
It can be taking a deep breath, accepting reality, and deciding that you deserve peace more than you deserve answers to the “what ifs.”

Even if the chapter didn’t close the way you imagined, your story doesn’t end there. You were whole before them, and you will be whole after them. The right person won’t leave you questioning your worth. They won’t need to disappear for you to find your value again.

I didn’t get the closure I thought I needed, and that’s okay. Healing is learning to live with the loose ends. It’s choosing to stop rewriting the ending. It’s deciding that peace matters more than explanations. Because healing isn’t about having every answer, it’s about making peace with the unknown. With the silence. With the way things ended.

So turn the page. Start writing the next part of your story for yourself.
No permission needed.

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