When “Good Intentions” Look Like a True Crime Episode

Hey everyone, it’s Tina. Grab a coffee, a blanket, or maybe a glass of wine (make it a large one), because today we are diving deep into the messy, confusing, and sometimes utterly embarrassing world of modern dating and relationships. Today, we need to talk about the “C” word.

No, not that one. Closure.

I’ll just come right out and say it: I have this terrible, burning, downright relentless bad habit of wanting closure from situations. I want answers. I want the final conversation. I want the neat little bow tied on top of the emotional wreckage so I can file it away in my brain and move on.

But here is the universal joke of the century: the exact people who are supposed to give me that closure are always the ones who run for the hills.

We’ve all been there. You hit a bump in the road, things get weird, and instead of having a mature, adult conversation, they just… vanish. They ignore you. And then comes the ultimate modern-day slap in the face: The Block.

Now, a normal person might see a blocked number and think, “Oh, okay, they need space. I should move on.”

Me? My brain immediately shifts into overdrive. The block doesn’t mean “stop,” it means “find another route.”

• The initial reaction: Confusion. Did my message even go through? Is the cell tower down?

• The secondary reaction: Righteous indignation. How dare they? After everything?

• The final boss reaction: Full-blown cyber sleuthing.

Which leads me directly to finding all their information and figuring out alternative ways to reach out to them for that one magical answer that I am convinced will set me free.

Let’s just address the elephant in the room. Yeah, I get it. They didn’t technically hand me their secondary email address, their LinkedIn profile, or their cousin’s best friend’s Instagram handle.

When I’m in the zone, trying to just get that one final sentence out, I turn into an FBI behavioral analyst. I promise you, my intentions and my heart are completely in the right place! I just want peace. I just want mutual understanding.

But I am also self-aware enough to admit that on paper—and probably to them—it comes off completely unhinged. Like, bat-shit crazy, psycho-thriller movie levels of unhinged. The disconnect between my heart saying, “I just want to understand” and my actions looking like, “I will find you,” is a gap I am desperately trying to bridge.

People are always so quick to say, “Tina, just let it go and move on!” But it is never that simple for me.

Having that closure and the final conversation is incredibly important to me because it is about so much more than just “moving on.” It’s about clearing the air so the chapter can be closed for good. If the book is still open, I can’t help but re-read the pages. I don’t want to keep looking back on the past, obsessing over the issue, or dissecting the situation anymore.

I want that final conversation as an adult so we can both move on.

Here is the slightly twisted logic my brain subscribes to: giving me that closure, having that actual final talk, is the one guaranteed way to make me walk away for the rest of my life. If we talk it out, I’m gone. The book is shut. But blocking me? Ignoring me? To me, that actually leaves the door cracked open. It tells my stubborn heart that you aren’t fully ready to close it properly. Just because you blocked me today doesn’t mean you won’t come back tomorrow, especially when there is still so much unfinished business lingering in the air between us. A block feels like a pause, not a period.

Honestly, if you want me to close the chapter for good—instead of relying on this heart of gold that keeps hoping that one day you will change, that one day you will apologize, and that one day you will start respecting me and trusting me so we can have a stable, normal relationship or friendship or something—then you have to talk to me. If you genuinely want me to stop caring, if you want me to stop seeing the good in you and hoping for the best, then give me that one final conversation.

Give me that closure. Give me that communication so I can finally stop, shut my emotions down completely, and move forward without looking back. Sometimes I swear, having a good heart, seeing the good in others, and wanting more is actually a terrible thing, because I always end up being the one hurt more than anyone else.

More than anything, I want that communication so I can finally stop caring. I want to stop coming off as an unhinged, obsessed, crazy, or psycho person who can’t let go. I am so tired of looking like I am desperately chasing someone who is sprinting in the opposite direction.

At the core of it all, I am not trying to harass anyone; all I want is actual accountability, an apology, and some real answers so that everyone involved can just get on with their lives. Is that really too much to ask? Apparently, yes. Because instead of basic human decency, people just choose to ignore me and my messages, leaving me to spiral into the abyss of unanswered questions.

Before I completely roast myself, I have to defend my fellow closure-addicts for a second. Because wanting answers isn’t entirely a toxic trait. There are two sides to this coin.

Why It’s Actually a Good Thing:

• It means you give a damn: We don’t just treat people like disposable coffee cups. When we invest in someone, we actually care about the outcome.

• It shows a desire for accountability: Wanting to talk things out means you value communication. You want to understand where things went wrong so you can fix them, learn from them, and do better next time.

• You have a big heart: The drive to find closure comes from a place of love and respect for the connection you shared. You want to honor what you had by ending it properly.

Why It’s a Terrible, No-Good, Very Bad Thing:

• You give away all your power: This is the hardest part to admit. By demanding closure from someone else, you are effectively handing them the keys to your peace of mind. If they refuse to talk, you stay trapped.

• It actively crosses boundaries: When someone blocks you, that is a boundary. A harsh one, sure, but a boundary nonetheless. Trying to bypass it makes you look like the villain, even if your heart is pure gold.

• It delays your healing: Every time you draft an email they’ll never read, or check their follower count, you are picking the scab off the wound. You think you’re looking for answers, but really, you’re just keeping the ghost of the relationship alive.

Here is a tough pill I’ve had to force myself to swallow lately.

Let’s say you mess up. You’re wrong, you’re in a bad spot, and you send someone a text message essentially tossing out a lifeline, waiting for them to step up. You want them to come save you, or help you, or just show up to prove they care.

When they don’t? That silence is deafening. But more importantly, it is incredibly illuminating.

If you send that vulnerable message and they don’t come to your rescue—if they choose to leave you on read, or worse, hit that block button—that shows you exactly where their mindset is. It shows you exactly how they view you and what their feelings actually are.

If they really did care, they wouldn’t have blocked you. They would have come to rescue you. They would have responded, even if they were mad, instead of just shutting the door entirely. But they didn’t.

Let’s be real for a second: they aren’t going to come back and contact me.

At some point, the lack of an answer is the answer. I have to learn to take the hint once I am blocked on everything. They are done. The curtain has closed, the credits are rolling, and the theater staff is sweeping up the popcorn around my feet while I’m still sitting in the dark, convincing myself that the unfinished business means there’s a sequel coming.

I guess what it boils down to is this: my intentions always mean well. I genuinely care, I want to resolve things, and I have a lot of love to give. I am fiercely loyal and I don’t give up on people easily.

But my delivery? My delivery makes my intentions look completely otherwise.

So, here is to learning, growing, and putting the magnifying glass down. Here is to realizing that closure isn’t something someone else magically hands to you in a perfectly worded apology text; it’s something you have to give yourself. And here is to keeping our hands far, far away from the keyboard when we see that “Message Not Delivered” notification.

We’ve got this. Probably.

Love, Tina

#Adultingblunders #Adultingmess #Adultingproblems #Adultingrealities #Adultingstruggles #Communicationissues #Emotionalawareness #Emotionalblackout #Emotionalhealth