Here’s a metaphor:
Your roof starts leaking.
You try to call the roof company to complain. Not only do they not fix it, the refuse to acknowledge the problem. Their phone number stops working, too. They tell you to write down your complaints, but don’t show those anywhere they can see.
The roof keeps leaking. You complain some more.
The roof company fixes a few stray tiles on your floor. “Look!” Says the people who have been hearing you complain about your leaky roof, “they did something!”
You are unamused. They may have done something, but it had nothing to do with the roof! It’s still leaking!
“Just get a different place where the roof isn’t leaking,” says the bystander.
After you had spent so much time and effort making the place all nice? How heartless! That formerly nice house with the pretty roof was the reason you even moved to this neighborhood in the first place! What kind of sunk-cost fallacy is this?
You take their advice anyways. The new place is okay, but you still miss how nice your old place used to be. You’re still upset that your old roof is still leaking, and is in plain sight no matter where you are in the neighborhood… haunting you.
You continue to complain, because that’s what happens when something breaks and makes things unpleasant for you. You remember how nice it was before it was broken, and have lots of ideas to make it even better and fix the problems that caused the roof to start leaking in the first place. But no one seems to be willing to listen, and people are now telling you that you’re a bad person for complaining at all.
Who’s in the wrong, here?
The people complaining about how something they once loved is now broken?
The people who were the ones to break it in the first place, and refuse to even acknowledge that it needs fixing?