*Trigger Warning/Spoilers: This Op-Ed discusses the ending of Stranger Things Season 5 and includes references to abuse, trauma, and other sensitive content. Reader discretion is advised.
The success of Stranger Things isn’t an accident. Beyond perfect timing and Netflix’s global reach, the show has captured hearts with 1980s nostalgia, rich worldbuilding, and a cast of characters audiences genuinely care about. At the centre of it all is Millie Bobby Brown’s Eleven, who’s arguably the heart of the series.
From the start, Eleven was defined by hardship — engineered and raised as a weapon, cut off from family, friends, and any normal childhood. What makes her compelling isn’t just her powers, but her resilience. Despite betrayal and isolation, she continually reaches out for connection, forming genuine friendships and choosing empathy over anger. Across the series, she transforms, learning trust, vulnerability, and agency on her own terms. That arc is why Eleven resonates with millions. Her struggle mirrors a universal truth: adversity shapes us. Globally, over half of all children aged 2–17 experience some form of violence or abuse, and roughly one in five girls and one in seven boys report sexual abuse in childhood. These figures show how many people carry trauma into adulthood, which helps explain why Eleven’s journey resonates far beyond the fictional world.
Season 5 leaves her fate frustratingly ambiguous. In the finale, it’s suggested she survives the climactic battle but removes herself from Hawkins, knowing the government won’t relent unless she’s captured or killed. On the surface, this echoes Season 1, when she vanished after defeating the Demogorgon. But she’s no longer the frightened, isolated girl she once was. She’s grown into someone who values connection, friendship, and family. Leaving her alone and on the run ignores that development. Both possibilities, death or exile, feel unsatisfying and contradict the show’s core themes. Stranger Things has always celebrated loyalty, community, and resilience, yet her ending isolates her from those she’s fought to protect, undercutting the emotional payoff of her journey.
Her exit also sends a troubling message to survivors: to move on, you have to erase yourself entirely, leaving loved ones behind so others can live “normal” lives. Framing her as a symbol of “magical childhood” is equally problematic. Her life’s been anything but magical. She’s endured trauma and abuse, and her growth comes from forging real connections. Reducing her to a childhood metaphor risks erasing the very struggles that made her compelling, suggesting a survivor’s journey only matters if it serves someone else’s story. This message is amplified when you consider characters like Vecna and Kali, other “subjects” shaped by trauma. If Eleven’s journey is an allegory for abuse survivors, these three characters illustrate the grim trajectories many face: by adulthood, they’re destroyed, isolated, or forced to erase themselves. By the finale’s end, they’re dead, broken, or removed from others’ lives — a sign that the creators may have missed the point of why audiences connected so deeply in the first place.
Stranger Things was initially envisioned to be an anthology series, and the ending of Season 1 worked perfectly for a standalone story. Eleven’s departure then represented the magical, almost otherworldly qualities she embodied, leaving audiences with bittersweet closure. By Season 5, she’s no longer that childlike, mystical figure. She’s grown, learned, and formed deep bonds. Repeating the same ending now feels jarring, as if the creators are forcing the story toward a predetermined exit rather than letting it conclude naturally. One can’t help but wonder whether this is truly the story’s natural conclusion, or a way to leave the door open for spin-offs and related media, prioritising profit over the integrity of the characters’ journeys.
