The final moments of Fleabag—Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s darkly comedic, emotionally layered masterpiece—are among the most quietly powerful in modern television. As Fleabag sits at a bus stop beside the Hot Priest (played by Andrew Scott), we expect, perhaps even hope, for a conventional romantic ending.
After all, their chemistry has been electric, their emotional connection undeniable, and the show has led us through a rollercoaster of trauma, healing, and intimacy. But instead, we see her smile, shake her head, and decline to follow him when he says, “It’ll pass.”
In that restrained, wordless goodbye, Fleabag does something astonishing: she chooses herself. It’s not a rejection rooted in bitterness or heartbreak, but in profound self-understanding. To grasp the full significance of her decision, we must explore her emotional journey, her relationship with the Priest, and what her choice reveals about the nature of healing and personal growth.
The foundation of Fleabag’s identity: guilt, loss, and self-destruction
From the first episode of Fleabag, we are introduced to a protagonist who breaks the fourth wall, sharing quips, observations, and sarcastic inner monologues. This constant commentary is more than a stylistic flourish—it’s a survival mechanism. Fleabag uses humor to deflect pain, sex to fill emotional voids, and distance to avoid intimacy.
At the heart of her pain lies unresolved grief. The death of her best friend Boo—caused indirectly by Fleabag’s betrayal—serves as the emotional epicenter of the series. She carries the weight of guilt, believing she deserves punishment rather than happiness. This belief fuels her self-destructive behaviors, including her strained family relationships and flippant approach to love.
The narrative arc of Fleabag is, at its core, about confronting and dismantling that self-loathing. The audience watches as she slowly chips away at her emotional armor, culminating in her bond with the Priest.
The Priest as catalyst for transformation
When the Priest enters Fleabag’s life in season 2, he is unlike anyone she’s encountered before. He notices when she breaks the fourth wall. He calls her out when she deflects. He challenges her when she hides. Their dynamic is arresting because he sees her—not the version she performs for others, but her raw, vulnerable self.
He is also, ironically, the one person she can’t have. His celibacy is not just a barrier, but a reflection of a deeper inner conflict—he too is searching for something bigger than himself. The emotional intimacy that grows between them isn’t superficial or transactional; it is born out of mutual recognition of pain, need, and desire for connection.
In many ways, the Priest becomes a mirror for Fleabag. He helps her see that love doesn’t have to be transactional or redemptive. It can simply be. He offers her the rare experience of being accepted and cared for without judgment or condition. For someone like Fleabag, who has long seen herself as undeserving of such love, this is revolutionary.
The tension between love and autonomy
Their affair is brief but deeply affecting. When the Priest ultimately tells Fleabag, “I love you,” and she replies, “It’ll pass,” she echoes his own earlier words—signaling both her understanding and acceptance of impermanence. She doesn’t plead or cling; she lets go.
But the true turning point comes afterward, when she chooses not to follow him. This decision is not a bitter renunciation of love, but an act of self-preservation and growth. For the first time, Fleabag recognizes that chasing someone, even someone she loves, isn’t the answer to her pain. Her healing doesn’t depend on being chosen—it depends on choosing herself.
Breaking the fourth wall—then breaking free
Throughout the series, Fleabag’s asides to the audience function like a shield. They allow her to control the narrative, to keep others—and herself—at arm’s length. These moments are often funny, biting, and intimate. But they also highlight her disconnection from the world around her.
In the final scene, when she turns to the camera and then gently shakes her head, she is signaling that she no longer needs us—the audience—as a crutch. The fourth wall, which once served as a window into her psyche, is no longer necessary. Her journey has brought her to a place of emotional integration, where she can face the world as a whole person.
This final gesture is not about abandoning the viewer but about reclaiming ownership of her story. It is the ultimate act of growth: she is no longer narrating her life for validation, but living it authentically.
The emotional logic behind her choice
Fleabag’s decision to let the Priest go is rooted in emotional maturity. Rather than succumbing to the romantic fantasy of “happily ever after,” she acknowledges the reality: that true love doesn’t always mean staying together. Their relationship served a purpose—it helped her find herself. And that was enough.
Choosing not to be with him doesn’t invalidate the love they shared. Instead, it honors it. The restraint in the final scene, the quiet acknowledgment of their connection, and the absence of dramatic declarations all serve to underscore this idea.
Rather than seeking fulfillment in someone else, Fleabag understands that she has to build that fulfillment on her own terms. The Priest helped her reach that realization, but he cannot complete the journey for her.
Redemption through self-awareness
By the end of the series, Fleabag is not entirely “healed” in a conventional sense. But she is aware—aware of her patterns, her desires, and her emotional wounds. This awareness is not a cure, but a starting point. And most importantly, she no longer sees herself as beyond redemption.
The show never offers a simplistic redemption arc. Instead, it presents growth as messy, nonlinear, and deeply personal. Fleabag’s progress isn’t marked by grand gestures or transformations, but by subtle shifts: reconnecting with her family, finding comfort in silence, and ultimately, choosing solitude when it serves her growth.
Choosing love, but not dependency
Fleabag’s rejection of the Priest at the end of the series is not a negation of their love, but an affirmation of her own identity. It’s a decision born from strength, not weakness. Rather than needing him to validate her worth, she now knows she’s worthy on her own.
This final act resonates because it defies expectations. In a world that often equates romantic love with completion, Fleabag offers a radical alternative: that real love sometimes means letting go, and that healing often begins with walking alone.
By making peace with her past, breaking free from her defenses, and choosing herself over emotional dependency, Fleabag’s journey ends not in heartbreak, but in quiet triumph.