How I Learned To Grieve Without Closure
Grief is about more than death
As originally published in Heart Speak on Medium.com.
Photo by francescoch on iStock
When I was younger I always associated the word ‘grief’ with death. But as I’ve moved through life I have personally experienced grief in many more ways than saying goodbye to a loved one — I just wasn’t fully aware of it at the time.
I spent most of my life in unhealthy relationships — within my family, at work, in friendships, and in my romantic life. Of course, I had no idea they were unhealthy because it was all I’d ever known.
In my teens, I had ‘best friends’ stop talking to me from one day to the next, without ever knowing why. It was devastating.
As a young adult, almost all my bosses tried to undermine me, keep me small, and even sabotage me. It was frustrating.
Throughout my life, every romantic partner I ever had cheated on me. It was infuriating.
In all the instances, the ensuing negative emotions demanded some form of closure on my part.
In the case of death, I needed to say goodbye.
In the case of friendships, I needed to understand why.
In the case of work, I needed to show them I was better.
In the case of romantic love, I needed them to feel remorse.
But that’s not what I got.
When my brother, the closest and most important person in my world, died suddenly, I didn’t get to say goodbye. I didn’t even get to be there.
When my mother died, I didn’t get to say goodbye or be there either.
When my best friend at school stopped talking to me from one day to the next, nobody would ever tell me why.
When my best friend of years all of a sudden spoke down to me and acted as if I had no more value to him, he never told me why.
When I poured my heart and sweat into successfully completing an important work project, my boss took the credit and had me let go soon after.
When I worked like crazy to achieve my targets, my boss forced me to give away a deal so that someone else could make theirs, in exchange for one of their future deals. Their future deal never paid, leading to claw-back on my commissions. When I objected, I was the one silenced by the powers that be, not the other person.
When I found out that my boyfriend had left me the night of my surgery to go sleep with his ex, not only did he feel no remorse, he said he was just doing the other woman a favour by sleeping with her.
When I found out that another boyfriend had been cheating on my since day one, and was living multiple lives, he not only felt no remorse but threatened to jump out our seventh-floor window in an attempt to guilt me into feeling sorry for him.
I never got the closure I wanted.
In the case of death, fate prevented it. In the case of all relationships, toxic people did.
What I learned is that I cannot control fate or other people. But I can control myself.
In the case of fate, I learned how to self-parent — to feel, acknowledge, and process the range of my very real emotions. I learned how to speak to my loved ones, even after they were no longer physically present. I learned that life has to end, but love doesn’t.
In the case of toxic people, I learned that the opposite of love is not hate. It’s indifference.
Moving forward was about me, not them.
It wasn’t about their love for me. It was about my love for me.
It wasn’t about forgiving them, it was about forgiving myself — for not loving myself enough to walk away the minute I no longer felt good.
And that realization led me to understand the importance of gaining clarity on my core values and then surrounding myself with people who align with them.
Because there was a shift from learning and knowing how to grieve without closure, to not wanting to have to do it.
I wanted better relationships — in all areas of life. The quality of my life depends on it.
There will always be grief. I know this. But I now also know it’s possible to live in a way that makes the inevitable grief far less tragic. Because I now live with purpose, intent, and love.
