Poet Sylvia Plath on the courage to close doors: “I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”
There is a truth many of us only learn through lived experience
Sometimes closing a door is not an act of defeat, but one of profound courage. Not every door we walk through is meant to remain open forever. Some doors are entrances into new phases of life, while others are classrooms where we gather lessons we could not have learned any other way. I like to think of these phases as redirections. Some are detours, leading us onto a different path.
Throughout life we are encouraged to open doors…
This gives us the opportunity to stretch our horizons. Many are great experiences as we journey through life. Closing a door is not always welcomed, and may even be uncomfortable. Some people may feel as if they are giving up, that they failed, or wasted their precious time and effort. Click here for one of my fave songs of all time – Strength, Courage & Wisdom – Inside You All Along.
Often, we cling long after the purpose of the door has been fulfilled. We stay because we invested time, energy, and identity. We stay because we once loved what waited on the other side. We stay because others have grown accustomed to seeing us there – they depend on us. But growth has a way of renegotiating our path. What once felt expansive begins to feel restrictive. What once energized starts to drain. What once fit comfortably now feels misaligned.
Closing doors feels uncomfortable because it is rarely just about the decision itself
It is about the meaning we attach to it. It is about the fear that walking away somehow invalidates the journey, career, dream, or relationship. We tell ourselves that perhaps things will feel right again, that gratitude requires persistence, that walking away is selfish or premature.
There comes a point when staying demands more energy than leaving ever would. At first, the discomfort is subtle, easy to dismiss. Then it grows into fatigue, resistance, or a sense of heaviness that lingers. Eventually, what once required effort now requires emotional negotiation. We find ourselves managing reactions rather than living authentically. We smile when something feels off. We show up while our energy protests. We convince ourselves that everything is “fine,” even as enthusiasm fades. It is exhausting to maintain the appearance of alignment when the truth has shifted.
You are not obligated to remain loyal to an old dream, a former identity, a completed role, or a path that no longer fits your evolving sense of self. The version of you who opened the door may have needed exactly what it offered. The version of you standing here now may not. That is not failure, it is evolution leading to a natural conclusion. Ask your self – are you forcing or flowing?
Closing a door asks for a different kind of courage
One that is less about adrenaline and more about grounded self-trust. It requires the willingness to tolerate uncertainty, and sometimes disappointed expectations, both external and internal. It may involve grieving what once mattered deeply, even when the ending is right. Because even necessary endings carry loss. Even chosen transitions can stir nostalgia, doubt, or fear. Courage does not eliminate these emotions; it allows us to move forward despite them.
Strength is not measured by theatrics
Not every door needs to be slammed. Not every ending demands a speech, a showdown, or anger. Some doors close quietly, with dignity and grace. Some endings unfold internally long before they are expressed externally. There is power in leaving gently, honoring what was, even though it no longer serves you. You are now making room for the future.
Courage is often associated with forging ahead, but it is equally present in releasing, redirecting, and choosing differently. Sometimes courage looks like persistence. Sometimes it looks like departure. Wisdom lies in discerning which is required. Closing a door does not invalidate the time you spent inside. It honors the reality that you are no longer the same person who entered. Growth changes us. Courage allows us to act accordingly.
And perhaps the bravest, most self-respecting truth we can claim is this: “This was right for who I was. It is no longer right for who I am becoming.” With that awareness, we can close the door not with regret, but with gratitude – and step forward, lighter and more aligned, into whatever door opens for us next.
