The Long Climb: What "Getting Over It" Really Means We’ve all heard the phrase, often offered as well-meaning but vague advice after a setback: “You just need to get over it.
We’ve all heard the phrase, often offered as well-meaning but vague advice after a setback: “You just need to get over it.” Whether it’s a personal loss, a professional failure, or a deep-seated disappointment, the instruction implies a finish line we can cross, after which the struggle is done. But the reality of moving past profound difficulty is less like jumping a hurdle and more like a long, uncertain climb up a steep, unfamiliar mountain.
The biggest misconception about "getting over" something is the idea of a definitive end. We picture a moment where the memory no longer stings, the regret vanishes, and we are returned to our former, unburdened selves. This fantasy sets us up for frustration. Healing is not an event; it’s a process of integration. The experience becomes part of our history, its sharp edges slowly worn smooth by time and reflection, but its shape remains within us.
So, if we can’t simply leap over our obstacles, what tools do we have for the climb? The first is often a brutal but necessary one: allowing yourself to feel the thing fully. Suppressing pain or anger only gives it more power, letting it resurface later. Acknowledgement is the foundation. From there, practical tools emerge—seeking support, engaging in activities that restore a sense of agency, and practicing self-compassion. These aren’t quick fixes, but the steady handholds we find on the rock face.
Progress is almost never linear. You might have a week of feeling strong and capable, only to be knocked back by a song, a place, or a stray thought that brings the old feeling rushing back. This isn’t failure; it’s an inherent part of the journey. These moments can feel like devastating setbacks, but they are often opportunities to process a little more, to understand a different facet of the hurt. Each time you continue forward after a stumble, you build a different kind of strength.
Perhaps the most helpful shift is to stop aiming for a state of “over it” and instead aim for a state of “carrying it differently.” The goal isn’t amnesia or invulnerability. It’s reaching a point where the weight of the experience no longer dictates your path forward. You learn to hold it alongside your other memories—the joyful and the mundane—without it dominating your field of vision. The scar remains, but it no longer aches with every movement.
Eventually, you’ll find yourself on a new plateau. You’ll notice that days pass where you don’t consciously wrestle with the old ghost. Your identity will have expanded to include more than just your struggle. This solid ground isn’t a return to the valley you started from; it’s a higher vantage point. From here, you can see the entirety of your climb—the treacherous parts and the moments of surprising grace—and understand that the journey itself forged the perspective you now have.
The phrase “getting over it” sells the process short. It’s not about getting over. It’s about getting through, getting up, and finally, getting on—forever changed, but undeniably forward.