I left an abusive marriage in 2014. And thus began my healing journey, too. For the longest time, I searched for the woman I left behind, but I could never find her. I was beginning to wonder if she was lost forever. Then I heard an excerpt from one of Carl Jung’s writings. He said, “Healing does not restore the former personality. It creates a new one.”
When we’ve been silenced or minimized, we often strive to return to the person we once were. Or how life was before it made us feel small. But that isn’t how true healing works.
It is like the caterpillar and the butterfly: we don’t return to our old form; we transform into something altogether new.
Something more beautiful.
Stop searching for your old self, looking for who you used to be; before the break-up, before the death, before the trauma Instead, watch the unfolding. Wait, and witness the beautiful soul you are becoming.
If you have followed along from the beginning, you have seen how these warning signs appeared again and again in my life. Not all at once. But slowly, consistently, and predictably.
This post is not about blame or judgment. And it is not about becoming hypervigilant or suspicious of everyone you meet.
It is about understanding why so many of us see danger and still stay, and how to begin recognizing red flags before they become traps.
Before I continue, I want to share that some names and identifying details in this series have been changed to protect privacy.
Most people think red flags are ignored because someone is naïve, desperate, or weak. That explanation is convenient but wrong.
We ignore red flags because familiar chaos often feels safer than unfamiliar peace. When instability, criticism, or emotional volatility have been part of your earlier life or relationships, your nervous system learns to treat them as normal. Calm does not feel safe. Calm feels suspicious.
Trauma also trains us to survive rather than to evaluate. In survival mode, you are not asking whether something is healthy. You are asking how to keep things from getting worse. Red flags do not disappear in that state. They just become background noise.
Hope plays a powerful role as well. Many people stay not because of who someone is, but because of who they were at the beginning or who they promise to become. Hope edits reality. It highlights potential and minimizes patterns.
Empathy is another reason. Many of us are taught to understand, forgive, and endure. Instead of asking whether behavior is acceptable, we ask what happened to them. We turn danger into a backstory.
Fear of being alone often outweighs fear of being harmed. Starting over feels overwhelming. Leaving feels like failure. So we choose what is known, even when it hurts.
Trauma bonds complicate things further. Cycles of tension, explosion, apology, and affection create powerful chemical attachments in the brain. Those bonds feel like love, even when they are rooted in fear.
In faith-based environments, endurance can be mistaken for devotion. Suffering gets spiritualized. Red flags get reframed as tests of character or commitment.
Finally, abuse rarely begins at full volume. It escalates gradually. Each step feels tolerable compared to the last, until you are already deeply invested.
Looking back, the red flags in my story were not isolated incidents. They were connected.
There was rage in public. Explosive anger over small frustrations. Control disguised as concern. Isolation. Intimidation without bruises. Fear that followed me even after I left. Running back in moments of crisis. Disrespect toward his mother. Entitlement when told no.
Each one pointed to the same truth. But I just was not ready to accept it yet.
Red flags are not bad days. They are not isolated arguments. They are not moments taken out of context.
Red flags are patterns.
They reveal how someone handles stress, disappointment, boundaries, and power. They show up most clearly when things do not go their way.
Red flags are also about how you feel. Anxiety. Tightness. Fear. The sense that you are walking on eggshells. The gradual shrinking of your voice and your world.
If you find yourself constantly explaining someone’s behavior to yourself, that is information.
Learning to see red flags is less about memorizing a list and more about paying attention.
Notice how someone reacts to being told no. Watch how they treat service workers and family members. Pay attention to whether the conflict escalates or resolves. Notice if apologies are followed by real change or just repetition.
Pay attention to your body. If you feel anxious, small, monitored, or pressured, do not dismiss that. If you are changing yourself to keep the peace, that matters. If your world is getting smaller, that is not love.
Your body notices red flags before your brain does.
One of the most overlooked red flags is what happens inside you.
Silencing yourself. Minimizing fear. Explaining away discomfort. Staying quiet to avoid reactions. Losing your sense of agency.
When you begin to disappear in a relationship, that is a warning sign.
You do not need to become perfect to protect yourself. You need awareness.
Slow down relationships. Pay attention to patterns instead of promises. Talk things through with safe people. Learn what calm actually feels like. Question intensity early. Do not spiritualize suffering or confuse endurance with wisdom.
You do not have to prove anything to earn safety.
If you have ignored red flags in the past, it does not mean you are broken. It means you were conditioned, hopeful, afraid, or trying to survive.
Awareness changes everything.
Red flags lose power when they are named.
Seeing them is not about becoming cynical.
It is about becoming free.
Thank you for walking through this series with me.
I have created a free downloadable Red Flags guide to accompany this series. It is designed to help you reflect on your experiences, recognize patterns, and put words to feelings you may have had but never named.
If we only learn what to avoid, we can become guarded. Suspicious. Cynical. Even hopeless.
So this is the pivot.
This is about green flags.
What healthy actually looks like.
Because if you grew up around chaos or survived controlling relationships, calm can feel unfamiliar. Stability can feel flat. Respect can feel suspicious.
And you cannot choose what you do not recognize.
When you are used to volatility, your nervous system expects it.
I remember being around steady, emotionally regulated people and waiting for the shift. Waiting for sarcasm. Waiting for criticism. Waiting for a tone change.
When it did not come, I felt restless.
Healthy relationships often feel quiet.
And when your body is used to noise, quiet can feel wrong.
I used to say there was “no spark.”
What I meant was there was no anxiety.
And I did not yet understand that anxiety was not chemistry. It was conditioning.
You cannot recognize what you have never seen modeled.
Green flags are not grand gestures. They are not constant texting, intense declarations, or dramatic romance.
They are patterns of safety.
They show up in ordinary moments.
Let me make that concrete.
You say, “I don’t agree.”
Instead of being mocked, dismissed, or punished, you hear, “Okay, tell me why.”
The conversation stays calm. There is no escalation. No name-calling. No retaliation later.
You are allowed to have a different opinion.
That is a green flag.
You say, “I’m not comfortable with that.”
They do not pressure you. They do not guilt you. They do not circle back repeatedly until you give in.
They say, “I understand.”
And they mean it.
That is a green flag.
They have a bad day.
They are frustrated.
But they do not slam doors, raise their voice, or make the room feel unsafe. They do not turn you into their emotional outlet.
They say, “I had a rough day.”
And they manage it.
That is maturity.
That is a green flag.
You go out with friends.
They are not texting constantly to check on you. They are not making passive-aggressive comments when you get home. They are not questioning your loyalty because you had fun without them.
They ask, “Did you have a good time?”
And they mean it.
Your world gets bigger, not smaller.
That is a green flag.
You say something hurt you.
They listen.
They do not tell you that you are too sensitive.
They do not twist it back on you.
They say, “I’m sorry.”
And the behavior changes.
That is a green flag.
This one is harder to articulate but easier to feel.
You are not rehearsing conversations in your head.
You are not editing yourself mid-sentence.
You are not scanning their tone for danger.
Your shoulders are not tight. Your stomach is not in knots.
If your nervous system can rest, that is a green flag.
Safety does not feel electric.
It feels steady.
When I think about Chelu, what stands out now is not romance.
It is steadiness.
He did not escalate.
He did not pressure me.
He did not mock my fear.
He did not demand reassurance.
He was calm.
At the time, I mistook that steadiness for a lack of chemistry.
Now I recognize it as a sign of emotional maturity.
I did not know how to trust steadily.
I only knew how to survive intensity.
Healthy love does not feel like adrenaline.
It does not feel like chasing, convincing, proving, or bracing.
It feels predictable.
It feels respectful.
It feels safe to disagree.
It feels like breathing normally.
And if you have never experienced that, it may take time to trust it.
Calm is not boring.
Calm is secure.
If you are in a relationship right now, ask yourself:
Do I feel free to disagree?
Do I feel respected when I say no?
Is my world expanding or shrinking?
Do I feel safe in my body?
Am I managing their emotions, or are we both responsible for ourselves?
Green flags are not complicated.
They are consistent.
For a long time, I thought passion meant intensity.
I thought love meant endurance.
I thought excitement meant chemistry.
Now I know this:
Healthy love does not require you to disappear.
It does not require fear to keep it alive.
You deserve calm.
You deserve respect.
You deserve to feel safe in your own body.
Seeing green flags is not about lowering your standards.
It is about raising them.
And once you learn the difference between chaos and stability, you cannot unsee it.
Knowing green flags is one thing.
Choosing them after trauma is another.
In the next post, I will write about how to rebuild trust in yourself, how to slow down attachment, and how to retrain your nervous system to recognize safety as safe.
Because awareness is the beginning.
Growth is the next step.
“We cannot fully appreciate the light without the shadows. We have to be thrown off balance to find our footing” Matthew McConaughey — Greenlights
“If you want to know how a man will treat his wife, look at how he treats his mother.”
It sounds like a simple piece of wisdom, doesn’t it? But when you are in the middle of planning a wedding, picking out rings, and dreaming of a future where you are no longer alone, you have a way of convincing yourself that the rules don’t apply to your situation.
In this post, I’m sharing the story of the 6th Red Flag — the moment the “fairytale” wedding planning hit a wall of reality in a cold kitchen.
At this point in my life, I was tired. I was a single mom, and when Preacher said, “If we are going to move, we must do it right. We need to get married,” it felt like a lifeline. I wasn’t just marrying a man; I was choosing a father for my son. I was choosing a partner, so I wouldn’t have to carry the weight of the world by myself anymore.
We picked the dress. We picked the rings. We were planning an intimate backyard wedding. It all looked perfect on paper.
The shift happened over something as simple as a vacation destination. Preacher’s mother had offered to pay for our honeymoon. I had always gotten along with her; she was kind and seemed to love my son. But when he mentioned Hawaii, she put her foot down.
“I am not paying for that,” she said.
In a heartbeat, the man I thought was my protector vanished. I watched in disbelief as his face turned a terrifying shade of red. The veins in his forehead bulged. He wasn’t just arguing; he was filled with a rage that felt physical.
“Why?! That makes no sense at all! Why are you being such a goddamn bitch?” Preacher screamed.
I sat at the kitchen bar, my elbows resting on the cold tile, paralyzed. I picked at my fingernails, trying to make myself invisible. I was terrified that if I moved or spoke, that field of rage would turn toward me.
His mother didn’t back down. She threw her hands up and screamed back, “I wish you had never been born. You are such an asshole,” before storming out.
As I sat in that silent kitchen, the words of a Pastor I once knew echoed in my head: “The way a man treats his mother is the way he will treat his wife.”
I heard the warning. I felt the chill of it. But I did what so many of us do when we are desperate for a happy ending: I made an excuse. I told myself that because she had promised the money and then changed her mind, his reaction was “understandable.” I minimized the verbal abuse because I didn’t want to admit I was about to marry a man who could speak to a woman — let alone his mother — that way.
Within three months, we were married. She paid for a honeymoon (not in Hawaii), and by the day we returned, our lives were already packed into boxes. We were heading to Oklahoma.
I didn’t realize that the scene in the kitchen wasn’t just a “family spat.” It was a blueprint.
A man’s relationship with his mother is often his first experience with female authority and boundaries. If he uses verbal violence to handle a “No” from her, he will eventually use it to handle a “No” from you. The way he devalues her is the exact script he will use on you once the honeymoon phase is over.
Don’t look at how he treats his mother when she is doing what he wants. Look at how he treats her when she stands in his way. That is the man you are actually marrying.
Why do we ignore the smoke even when we can smell the fire?
