24/12/2025
When You Realise You’re Not Waiting for Closure — You’re Mourning the Absence of Justice.
At some point after awakening,
you notice a strange exhaustion that has nothing to do with healing.
You’re not confused anymore.
You’re not questioning what happened.
You’re not trying to understand them.
You’re tired in a deeper way.
Tired of knowing the truth
without it ever being acknowledged.
Tired of carrying clarity
in a world that quietly rewards denial.
This isn’t longing for closure.
Closure implies an ending.
What you’re grieving is unrealised justice.
The recognition that the truth you lived
will never be mirrored back to you
by the people, families, or systems
that benefited from not seeing it.
And that grief has a specific texture.
It’s not sadness alone.
It’s a hollowing.
A sense that something essential
never arrived on time.
Jung would call this the wound of the unintegrated collective —
when an individual completes a psychological task
the group refuses to undertake.
You finished the work.
They didn’t.
And now you’re left holding a truth
that has nowhere to land.
This is why explanations stopped helping.
Why proving stopped satisfying.
Why even being “right” feels strangely empty.
Because justice isn’t about winning the argument.
It’s about restoration of moral order.
And when that never happens,
the psyche has to reorganise without it.
From an Adlerian lens,
humans are wired to orient toward shared meaning.
When meaning fractures —
when harm is privately known but publicly denied —
the individual bears the psychic cost.
You didn’t just lose relationships.
You lost the fantasy
that truth alone corrects reality.
That if you named it clearly enough,
fairness would follow.
That exhaustion you feel now
is not bitterness.
It’s truth fatigue.
The cost of carrying reality
without social reinforcement.
And this is where many people turn inward again:
Why can’t I let this go?
Why does it still hurt if I’m already awake?
Because letting go of the need for justice
feels like letting the harm win.
But here is the reframe that restores agency
without asking you to minimise what happened:
Justice does not always arrive as recognition.
Sometimes it arrives as reorientation.
You stop waiting for validation
from places invested in silence.
You stop measuring your healing
by whether others finally “get it.”
You stop hoping for a moment
that would retroactively make it right.
Instead, something quieter takes shape.
You begin building a life
that no longer requires their acknowledgement
to feel morally coherent.
Not because it didn’t matter.
But because you refuse to let
their refusal
remain the final authority over your nervous system.
This is not forgiveness.
It’s not absolution.
It’s ethical independence.
You decide that truth does not need consensus
to be real.
That your clarity does not need applause
to be valid.
That justice, when denied externally,
can still be honoured internally
through how you live, choose, and protect your reality.
And one day you realise:
You weren’t stuck because you needed closure.
You were grieving the fact
that the world did not correct itself
the way you were taught it would.
That grief deserves dignity.
Because it marks the moment
you stopped believing in comforting myths
and started standing inside truth
without guarantees.
That’s not cynicism.
That’s maturity forged by reality.
You are not waiting anymore.
You are no longer asking permission
for what you already know.
And that —
quiet, unspectacular, uncelebrated —
is justice finally taking form
inside you.
