“Just Get Over It” — When They Say That, They Don’t See the Whole Story

“You just need to get over it.”

They say it so casually, like it’s some universal truth. As if pain can be reasoned with. As if trauma can be boxed up and shelved like last season’s wardrobe. As if the mind, heart, and body don’t keep the score.

And every time I hear it—whether it’s about grief, addiction, depression, or the weight of a past I didn’t choose—I feel that sting. That same tired suggestion that my suffering is inconvenient. That healing should be neat, fast, and invisible.

Let me say this as clearly as I can:

If I could have flipped the switch, I would have burned the damn thing down years ago.

But Healing Doesn’t Work Like That

This isn’t about weakness.
It’s not about willpower.
It’s not about whether or not I “want” to feel better.

It’s about wiring.
It’s about how trauma settles into bones.
It’s about how addiction becomes a map to escape what no one taught you how to face.
It’s about a nervous system on overdrive, and a body that flinches at softness because it's never known safety.

It’s about grief that loops, shame that lingers, and guilt that tells you you’re not worth the effort—even when you are the effort.

So no, I can’t just “get over it.”
Because I’m in it.
Because I’m moving through it.
Because I am peeling back years of self-protection to find the truth under the rubble.

And that’s sacred work.

The Myth of the Quick Fix

We are a culture addicted to the shortcut.
To the pill.
To the bypass.
To the 5-step formula to “fix” what was never broken in the first place.

And when someone tells you to “just stop”—whether it’s drinking, overthinking, isolating, numbing—they’re revealing more about their comfort level than your capacity.

They don’t want to feel the depth of what you carry.
So they try to shut it down.

But not you.

You’re still here.
Still showing up.
Still wrestling with the weight of it all—and choosing, however imperfectly, not to numb out completely.

That is not failure.
That is the truest form of strength I know.

This Is What I Want You to Hear

You don’t need to explain why it still hurts.
You don’t need to justify why you’re not “over it” yet.
You are not broken for feeling broken.
You are not behind for still becoming.

If healing has felt more like crawling through fog than climbing a ladder—you're not alone.

And the fact that you are reading this right now?
That you are seeking truth, comfort, connection, or maybe just one reason to believe again?

That is proof. You’re already doing the work.

So let them keep their tidy advice.
You don’t need their shortcuts.
You need space.
You need truth.
You need time.

Because we’re not just trying to “get over it.”
We’re learning how to live beyond it—
With grace.
With courage.
With hearts that remember, and still choose to keep beating.