I used to think endings were administrative.
A final conversation. A handover. A closing email. Something you moved through so you could get on with whatever came next. I believed the real meaning of an experience lived in the middle, not at the point where it stopped.
I no longer believe that.
Endings have a way of revealing truths that were carefully managed while everything was still in motion. When there is nothing left to protect, patterns surface without effort. What was once obscured by performance and politeness becomes unmistakably clear.
By the time my work ended, I was already tired. Not just emotionally, but practically. What should have been simple became unnecessarily complicated. Information shifted. Numbers changed. Explanations were revised and then revised again.
I found myself having to prove what I was owed.
That experience stayed with me more than I expected. Not because of the money itself, but because of what it revealed. After everything that had come before, I had hoped the ending would be handled with care. That it would be clean. That it would acknowledge contribution, even quietly.
Instead, it required persistence.
There is something sobering about realising that fairness becomes negotiable once your usefulness has expired. That processes loosen at the exact moment you most need them to hold. That clarity disappears when accountability would be inconvenient.
In moments like that, the story you were told throughout the experience begins to unravel. The values that were spoken about lose their shape. The professionalism that was expected of you is not always returned.
And suddenly, the ending makes sense of everything that came before it.
I noticed how the final interactions lingered in my body. A heaviness that was not there at the start. A quiet disbelief that this was how it would conclude. I had given so much of myself to the work, and yet the last chapter felt diminishing rather than respectful.
That matters.
Endings shape memory. They determine how you carry an experience forward. They influence whether you walk away grounded or unsettled. Whether you trust yourself or question what you endured.
I have spoken to many people who say the same thing. That the exit hurt more than the role itself. That being made to chase what was fair left a deeper mark than the pressure they had managed while still inside.
This is not because they are fragile.
It is because endings carry meaning.
They tell you whether you were seen as a person or a resource. Whether contribution was valued or merely extracted. Whether integrity extended beyond convenience.
What I have learned is this.
The final chapter often reveals the truest story. Not because it is louder, but because there is no longer a reason to pretend.
If you are carrying discomfort from an ending that never sat right, I want you to know something gently.
Your reaction is not an overreaction.
It is your awareness recognising what was never properly acknowledged.
And sometimes, naming that truth quietly is how you reclaim your sense of dignity after a chapter that closed without the respect it deserved.
Copyright © 2026 Lynette Diehm.
All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced without written permission of the author.
