The Myth of Closure

I don’t believe in closure. Not one iota.

There’s a charming meme that pops up every once in a while, one about a broken plate and the inability of “sorry” to fix it. It perfectly sums up the myth of closure — the futile wait for the right words to come along and heal the wounds inflicted by someone else. I suppose the meme is meant more for the people who take little responsibility for their actions and think that “sorry” is akin to “abracadabra” — having otherworldly powers to make their err disappear. To me, it better serves those who are burdened by pain and waiting for someone else to make it better. That seems to be the type of closure so many seek: Magic words that heal the hurt. I don’t believe that kind of closure exists.

Here’s a simple test to illustrate my point: Think of all the right words that would need to be said by the person(s) that hurt you. Write them down even. Study them. Feel them. Read them aloud. Imagine them coming from that person, in that voice. Sit with it for a while. I suspect one of two things will happen: 1.) Nothing changed and you’re still hurting; or 2.) You feel better.

In either case, it shows that the power of “closure” does not lie in the hands of another. That power solely belongs to you.

I can imagine some wanting to defy that logic. If someone hurt you, it’s that person’s responsibility to apologize, to own up to their wrongdoing — THAT’S the only way for things to be made right. With all due respect, WRONG. Why give anyone else that kind of power over you?

Let’s say you end up in boat #2, feeling better after imagining all the right words being said. Guess who did that? You! You came up with the words. You sat with them, let them penetrate the wound. You healed your hurt. No one else but you. And that is pretty wonderful. That’s like a superpower. Revel in it!

The problem I have with the seeking of closure through conversation or confrontation is that the person in pain is waiting for the perpetrator to have the same self-awareness they have. The same sense of humanity, responsibility, compassion and honor. Let me put it this way: If the person was jerk enough to hurt you and never apologized or took responsibility on their own volition, why would you think they would suddenly be hit with an epiphany and come crawling to you with their heart on sleeve, admitting to the wrongdoing and beg for forgiveness? You might as well play the Lotto; you have better odds of winning in that arena.

Here’s another conundrum of pop-culture closure: What happens if the person who hurt you is no longer with us? How on earth can you get closure from someone who has passed away? What if the perpetrator is an unknown assailant? How can closure come from a phantom? It can’t. Closure is a DIY project. That is both a sad fact and a marvelous revelation. And one that took me time to realize.

I spent decades waiting for my mother, an emotional and verbal abuser at a Jedi Master level, to say she was sorry for at least some of the things she did and said. Maybe take a little responsibility for our lack of relationship. Even if she couldn’t muster any of that, perhaps simply treat me with the courtesy she would a stranger in her home. Fake it for a few hours, you know? Unfortunately, she wasn’t capable of that. The mere suggestion would bring on an onslaught of venom. Commercialized closure was never going to come to me.

Back in the day, I could image her and myself sitting with Oprah on butter-soft leather, holding hands, the three of us with tears in our eyes as amends were made and hugs given. It’s a beautiful scene, well shot with perfect lighting. But I could also imagine what happened after we exited the stage. The limo ride to O’Hare in stony silence. The flight back to L.A. where, in a few short minutes with precisely choses words, all of the magic that Oprah had spun would be undone. It’s what happened when mere mortals (i.e., family and friends) tried to bridge the chasm between my mother and me. It was an endless quest that, in the end, for my health and sanity, I halted. I cut all ties. It wasn’t a bitter act, but one of self-preservation. Friends asked how I would ever find closure if I didn’t talk to her. I told them I didn’t need it. I didn’t want it. Not from her. The holes she carved into me, the pieces she took, couldn’t be filled by her; it would be too easy for her to take them away again. That’s when I learned I was the one who had to do the work. I was the one who had to make myself whole.

It’s a less romanticized version of closure. Not exactly cinematic. She and I wouldn’t hold hands. Beautiful words would not be exchanged. The years of hurt would not end in a tight embrace. But the pain would fade from palpable ache into sepia-toned memory as I continued to step forward, and further away from the pain and the past.

And that’s why I don’t believe in “closure” the way it’s marketed to us. How it (the years of pain, agony or humiliation) can all be wrapped up with a pretty bow of words. It comes off as an oversimplification of something that’s truly complicated and complex. It seems what people want from closure is a quick and easy fix. And that’s what leads to even more disappointment.

It’s been over a decade since I’ve seen my mother. And it’s been over a decade since I have felt the wounds. Now when I think of my mother, it’s with a light heart. I have compassion for the pain she must be in to treat her only daughter the way she did. Forgiveness became bi-product because the past no longer mattered. I had dragged that baggage around with me for so long, I was happy to let it go. I appreciate the lessons I learned from our relationship and am grateful that my present has little to do with my past. But she played no part in that triumph.

Whether the hurt comes from a mean mom, a brutal breakup or a heinous crime, the healing power of closure does not lie in the hands of the offender; the power of closure is something we hold ourselves. No one else can close that wound. No one else can remove that scar. The salve we seek is within us. Apply it liberally from the inside out, give it time to work and, before you know it, you will find that broken part has healed itself closed, even around the missing pieces. And, it wasn’t someone else’s words or work that did that for you.

If you still don’t believe me, grab a plate, smash it on the ground and tell it you’re sorry.