The Lie of “I Just Need Closure”

If a snake bites you, you don’t chase it down asking why.
You don’t sit there like,
“Maybe I moved wrong… maybe I confused it…”

You get the venom out and you back the hell away.

But with people?
We replay the moment like it was a misunderstanding.
Like pain needs a backstory.

We gaslight ourselves into thinking instinct is negotiable.

We don’t do this because we’re confused.

The truth is usually obvious.

They didn’t show up.
They didn’t choose you.
They didn’t respond.

That part isn’t complicated.

What we can’t sit with
is what it feels like it says about us.

So we start rewriting the story.

“Maybe I said the wrong thing.”
“Maybe I expected too much.”
“Maybe if I understood it better…”

So we turn pain into a puzzle.
Something we can solve.
Something that gives us control.

This shows up everywhere.

The friend who goes back to the same abusive romantic partner 4000 times—
but the second you set a boundary, you’re disposable.
No conversation. No curiosity. Just gone.

The new connection you tried to build—
silence. No reply.
And you’re sitting there wondering if you said the wrong thing.

And then the deeper ones—
like growing up trying to earn recognition
from someone who was never going to see you clearly in the first place.

At some point, you have to stop asking
“what did I do?”

and start asking
“what did that show me about THEM?”

Because people are consistent in ways we don’t want to admit.

Not always loudly.
Not always cruelly.

But clearly.

Healing doesn’t come from getting answers. It comes from trusting what you saw without needing them to confirm it.

It comes from accepting
that some people won’t choose you,
won’t see you,
won’t meet you where you are—

and not turning that into a flaw in yourself.

If a snake bites you, you don’t chase it for meaning.

You accept what it is.
You take care of yourself.
You move differently next time.

Not because it’s easy.

But because staying there, trying to understand it,
is how the poison spreads.