It's Not Over Till You Say It's Over

Life often thrusts us into unexpected storms—situations where the ground beneath us collapses, and the future seems like an insurmountable void. I've experienced that, gazing into the abyss, my heart heavy with despair after a relationship I deeply invested in dissolved into uncertainty. It was a romance I had cherished for years, only to see it fall apart. Then there was the friend who disappointed me, and the family bond that deteriorated under years of unspoken tension. In each case, I was on the brink of giving up, ready to call it quits. But something whispered back: It’s not over till you say it’s over. That whisper was hope, fragile yet fierce, and it carried me through.

Hope is not a passive sentiment; it’s a force, a deliberate act of defiance against the chaos of existence. When a partner drifts or a parent wounds, despair whispers that the bond is lost. But hope counters: maybe not.

I once heard despair described as the abandonment of possibility, the refusal to believe that tomorrow might differ from today. Hope, then, is the courage to embrace possibility, to hold space for what could be, even when emotion screams otherwise. Neuroscience supports this—research indicates that hope stimulates the prefrontal cortex, the brain area in charge of planning and resilience, effectively rewiring us to persevere. It’s not blind optimism; it’s a calculated wager on the unknown. It isn’t naivety; it’s the strength to see beyond the rupture.

I learned this the hard way. After that romance faded, I felt the urge to leave my job, relocate, and start fresh in a place where no one knew me. My emotions were intense, pushing for a quick, dramatic change. However, a friend's gentle question grounded me: “What if there’s more to this story than you can see right now?” That quiet reflection changed everything. Major decisions—letting go of love, saying goodbye to a friend, distancing from family—require a calm heart, not a rush of emotions. When emotions are intense, we tend to shift our perception of hope from a strength to a weakness, inevitably resulting in broken outcomes.

So I waited. I allowed the storms to pass, and afterward, I found more than just survival—I discovered renewal. Hope motivated me to attempt reconnection with those from whom I had sought to distance myself. Unfortunately, I can’t say that all my relationships were mended, but many were. Hope held the door open, and I chose to step through.

Saying "it's over" allows the wound to triumph. Holding on and letting hope flourish—even just a little longer—offers a chance to rewrite the narrative.

Years ago, I asked an elderly lady what the secret to a long and happy marriage was. I'll never forget her response. She smiled at her husband, then turned to me and said, "Never stop fighting for each other." I looked at him, and he nodded.

Their "secret" is straightforward. However, implementing it requires determination. Relationships don’t end because they break; they end when we stop fighting for them.

It’s not over till you say it’s over. Amid the complexities of human relationships, hope is your sword and patience is your shield. Don’t let a storm dictate your forever. Pick up your sword and shield—fight for the connections you cherish—they’re yours to reclaim and renew.