Richelle Hofer

I’ve been spending a lot of time in counseling lately, and I’m not embarrassed about it. In fact, I think the whole world should be in counseling—if you’ve never tried it, consider this your sign!

One of the things I’ve been working through is the idea of closure. Ugh. Closure. Just the word makes me shudder.

How often do we find ourselves stuck in a mental loop after a betrayal—replaying conversations in our minds, waiting for an apology that never comes, or hoping they’ll suddenly realize the hurt they caused and make it right? I don’t mean the small misunderstandings that can be cleared up with an honest conversation—I’m talking about the big, relationship-ending hurts. The ones that leave scars.

For me, I kept trying to figure out why. Why did they hurt me like that? I thought that if I could just understand their why, then maybe we could talk it out and sort through the wreckage. I thought if they could see how much they hurt me they would surely be sorry and everything would somehow be okay again.

But here’s the truth: it’s almost ridiculous, once you see it clearly. We keep going back to the person who hurt us (even if it’s only in our minds), hoping that this time, they’ll be the one to heal us. That they’ll give us the words or the apology or the explanation that finally puts the pieces back together. But usually, those people can’t—or won’t—give us what we’re looking for. It’s like trying to draw water from a well that’s run dry.

In one of my counseling sessions, my counselor asked me a question that stopped me in my tracks: “Why do you think the people who hurt you in the first place will somehow bring you closure?” It’s so obvious, yet so easy to miss. The people who broke us can’t always be the ones to restore us.

Closure is tricky. It doesn’t look the same for everyone. For me, in this particular instance, closure has meant closing the door forever. It’s a door I will not open again… even if they knock. But I know that’s not true—or healthy—for everyone. Sometimes closure means setting healthy boundaries while maintaining some form of connection. Sometimes it means simply deciding to stop seeking answers you’ll never get. What matters is that we find a way to move forward that doesn’t rely on the very people who caused the pain.

Because the real secret is this: Healing doesn’t require permission or participation from the people who hurt us. It’s something we can build for ourselves. It might mean talking it out in counseling, journaling, or just sitting with the grief and letting it settle. It’s not easy work—it’s the hardest work I’ve ever done… but my it’s MY work – well, me and God. No one else is responsible for my healing.

I’m still in the thick of this process. I don’t have all the answers, and I probably never will. But I’m learning that healing doesn’t have to include the people who hurt us. In fact, it might be stronger, deeper, and more authentic if it doesn’t.

If you’re stuck in the same loop—waiting for an apology that may never come, or for them to realize the hurt they caused and feel sorry—I hope you know you’re not alone. And I hope you find the courage to stop looking for healing in places that can’t offer it, and to start building it for yourself, one step at a time.