by Francois Martin Hunter
We’re told to move on as if it’s something simple.
A switch to flip.
A box to tick.
A line to cross between then and now.
But anyone who’s actually tried knows:
Moving on is not clean.
It’s not fast.
And it’s not linear.
Because “moving on” isn’t about forgetting the past.
It’s about learning how to live differently with it.
The Pressure to Heal Quickly
We live in a world obsessed with resolution.
We want to tie things up neatly — to know that we’ve “done the work,” to feel we’ve “let it go.”
But grief, heartbreak, or loss don’t follow that script.
There’s this unspoken pressure to “get over it,” to stop mentioning it, to seem okay.
Even when you’re not.
That pressure often comes from discomfort, both yours and other people’s.
Because unresolved pain is hard to sit beside.
But in trying to rush it, we often end up suppressing it.
And what we suppress doesn’t go away, it just goes underground.
What’s Really Happening When You Can’t Move On
From a psychological perspective, what keeps us stuck isn’t weakness, it’s the brain doing its best to protect us.
When something painful happens, a breakup, betrayal, loss, trauma, our nervous system goes into survival mode.
That experience gets wired not just into memory, but into emotion, body, and identity.
So even when time passes, part of us stays frozen at the point of impact.
We replay moments not because we want to suffer, but because our brain is trying to make sense of what felt senseless.
We go back to the story, the “what ifs,” the “why did this happen,” the “maybe if I’d done this differently”, because we’re searching for coherence.
And until that coherence starts to form, our mind keeps circling back.
So no, you’re not weak for still feeling it.
You’re human your brain is simply trying to finish a story that didn’t get a proper ending.
Closure vs Integration
We often talk about closure like it’s a door we need to shut.
But in reality, closure is a myth.
Healing rarely comes from closure, it comes from integration.
Integration means making space for the experience inside your story without letting it define you.
It’s the process of saying:
“This happened. It shaped me. But it doesn’t have to hold me hostage.”
You may never feel “done” with some losses.
But you can reach a point where the memory no longer controls your nervous system, where you can remember without reliving.
That’s integration.
That’s healing.
The Subtle Signs You’re Already Moving On
Moving on doesn’t always feel like moving forward.
Sometimes it feels like exhaustion.
Sometimes it feels like indifference.
Sometimes it feels like you’re back at square one, until you realise you’re not reacting the same way anymore.
You start noticing small shifts:
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The ache is still there, but it’s quieter.
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You stop replaying the same conversation.
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You can see their face without your stomach dropping.
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You catch yourself laughing again and it doesn’t feel like betrayal.
That’s what healing looks like in real life:
Subtle. Non-linear. Ordinary.
The Role of Therapy in Letting Go
In therapy, “moving on” isn’t something you force it’s something you allow.
Therapy creates a space where you can sit with what still hurts, without needing to rush it away.
It helps you understand your attachment to what’s gone, why it mattered, what it represented, what it awakened in you.
You learn that grief isn’t only about losing someone, it’s also about losing the future you imagined.
That’s why we can grieve people who are still alive, or versions of ourselves we’ve outgrown.
A therapist helps you make meaning from the pain to find the thread that connects who you were, who you are, and who you’re becoming.
Because healing isn’t about erasing chapters.
It’s about learning how to read them differently.
Moving On Is Remembering With Peace
One day, you’ll notice the story still exists, but it feels lighter.
The memory hasn’t vanished, but it’s softened.
It no longer defines you.
That’s what moving on really is.
Not forgetting.
Not deleting.
But remembering differently, with peace instead of pain.
What part of your past are you still trying to “close”?
What if, instead of closing it, you allowed it to simply settle, as one chapter of a bigger story still unfolding?