Adorable Red Flags
When you’re in love with someone, everything they do is adorable at first. Every quirk is cute. Every joke is funny. And every story they tell fascinates and draws you in.
Under the guise of romance, you began ignoring red flags. Not because you are blind. And not because you didn’t know better, because you most certainly did/do. You ignored them because of hope. And because you were sold a dream so alluring that its potential blinded you from the bitter, harsh truth that this wasn’t a wonderful, passionate romance but actually a tumultuous, toxic hell. Miscommunications and misunderstandings are dismissed for rough patches. Anxiety and walking on eggshells are labeled as “you’re being dramatic or too sensitive.” Sooner or later, things stop looking adorable, and the red flags start looking like bloodshed.
Don’t lower your standards for someone who can’t even see your crown.
This quote stood out to you for a few reasons. First, it complements the crown tattoo you have centered on your left forearm. More importantly, in the last four to five years, you’ve been trying to live your life with more intention, especially with who and what you give your time to. And as a woman and proud feminist, you found meaning in a worldview that values women.
But how can you explain all of that to someone who takes everything personally? How do you describe what this means to you, what it says between the lines, when someone is reacting from a place of rage and defensiveness rather than curiosity and openness? How do you engage with someone who labels this and you as a threat and thereby attacks you at every cost?
The truth is, you can’t, and so you don’t.
Reacting from a place empty of curiosity and full of assumptions creates a vast space between people. Curiosity will open doors, and, more importantly, it will open hearts. Assumptions, on the other hand, are blind, thoughtless reactions that lead to disconnection, pain, and, in your case, heartbreak.
For you, this quote was empowering and uplifting. It brought you joy. It reminded you that you are worthy. And from a life unlearning your scarcity mindset in which you thought you weren’t enough, you need visual reminders of your worth every now and then.
But to him, this quote meant something different. And if you’re honest, you aren’t entirely sure what, but you can surely guess based on his reaction. Mirrors. They say our partners hold up mirrors for us to face ourselves. And some truly don’t like what they see, what they are forced to look at within themselves. Unfortunately for you, you were in such a situation. You held up a reflection that he did not, or could not, want to see. And so this quote brought hatred in him–hatred for you and everything you stand for, think, and believe in. The switch flipped instantly. He was seeing red.
You were already used to monitoring yourself with him at that point, because anything could set him off and create mass emotional warfare. You self-selected your words, your tone, and the topics you discussed with him because safety and calm were a gamble. It was wiser to be vigilant and on guard with him than relaxed and at ease. Actually, relaxed and at ease were foreign to you now. It wasn’t simply wise to be vigilant; it was required. But alas, this was a new lesson: inspirational quotes you set as your phone’s screensaver are off-limits, too. Another thing you must censor and change in order to keep the peace. All the wiser. All the more vigilant.
It was a Saturday morning. The two of you were lying in bed together, cuddling in between kisses. At some point in the conversation, the two of you wanted to look something up, so you reached for your phone. Heads and limbs touching, lying side by side, the tiny screen lit up over your faces so you could open your search bar. As quickly as you started typing, the phone was snatched from your hand so he could read your screensaver. The sweet moment you two shared after the makeout session you just had was over immediately. This part of the romance story was shifting; the page was turning toward tragedy. A trajectory you were very familiar with by now.
What the fuck is that? He hissed at you, standing up and leaving the bed. That shit is so fucking stupid and immature. You’re fucking stupid and immature. His anger is palpable in the room and the space between you. It’s as if he’s left you in that moment. Just seconds ago, he was sweet and loving, and the moment was romantic and warm. That has completely disintegrated now in his fury. Now, everything turns cold and dark as he stands in front of you. This is a level of anger you haven’t seen in him before. He is utterly disgusted, as if you committed a catastrophic moral sin.
All of this transpires quickly at first, before you’ve even had time to speak or respond.
You sit up with a whiplash. Your breathing becomes shallow and exaggerated, as if you were climbing a mountain at high elevation. Immediately preceding this moment, you were in his arms, enjoying his kiss and embrace. Danger was nowhere in sight–or so you thought. Now, you’re face-to-face with a different person, a different version of him. You’re face-to-face with a monster.
Thoughts flood through your mind: Where did you go? Please, stay. Please come back. It’s no use. It’s too late. He’s gone. Anger has taken him. The cycle of abuse has started yet again. You know every step to this dance. The two of you are in lock step now; the only way you’re in sync and harmony in this relationship.
As you sit up in bed, your spine stiffens. You’re catching your breath, watching him pace the room in front of you. He seems to be getting ready to leave? Collecting his things? You’re not sure. Everything happened so fast then. His face is in a scowl, and his lips turn in a coil of disgust. He has a way of painting his face with utter disgust at you and about you that you’ve never seen or known before. (Am I that repulsive? You wonder.) In some ways, this scene would shift and move in slow motion. You can still remember what it felt like to float above this moment, and watch it all unfold. You are sitting in bed, bewildered, fearful, and sad. And him, standing in front of you, punishing you for a crime you didn’t commit, an offense of his own making. You’re aren’t even sure yet what the problem is that warrants his actions and words. Again, the rug is pulled out from under you unexpectedly. Again, you are reeling from the wind being knocked out of you. Again, and again, and again.
Sitting there, feeling cold and scared, you pull the blankets up around you. It’s just a quote. You manage to say, slowly and quietly, because you are in shock. Anxiety and fear are starting to intensify within you. Damage control. You are now entering the phase of damage control.
No! That, he points down at your phone sitting beside you on the bed, is fucking stupid. You and your fucking quotes and hating men bullshit are fucking stupid. From there, he berates you and your feminist mindset. He criticizes your use of Instagram (again), saying it clouds your judgment and thinking. You can’t think for yourself, he says. You feel like you’re watching a movie. Or you are a passenger in a high-speed car chase. The car is moving at a rapid speed, spinning and turning, whipping you back and forth. All you can do is fasten your seatbelt and hold on for dear life. At times like this, it feels like the car is falling off a cliff. And honestly, in these terrible moments with him, you wished it would. I want to be anywhere but here, even if it means falling to my death.
Historically, this encounter would have made you cry, as it had many times before. But that only made moments like this worse: You think I’m going to feel bad because you’re crying? I don’t feel bad every time you cry. Oh, great, so now you’re going to be upset like this. And now the whole day is ruined because you’re upset. But at first, you don’t say anything. You let the hate spill out of his mouth as it effortlessly does when he’s like this. You don’t feel like fighting back anymore. What’s the point? He was caught in a wave of his own assumptions about what that quote was about. It’s as if you’re watching him drown. Except he’s determined to take you down with him.
He continues in a long monologue full of attacks, now on your personality, views, character, social media use, your dog, the fact that you like your dog, and the fact that you have a dog. At some point, your life as a dog mom became a reason for punishment? You only care about yourself and your fucking dog. His comment is ironic, given that you had just booked and paid for a hotel to come down and visit him for nearly a week, demonstrating that you are investing time in him and the relationship. But yeah, you only cared about the dog.
Finally, some dust settles. You see a window. You haven’t even asked me what the quote is about or what it means. You say quietly. Your voice feels stuck in your throat, muffled by shock, fear, and anxiety.
No. It doesn’t matter. That’s fucking stupid, immature. His face is in a permanent scowl now. All of the warmth and connection the two of you just had is gone. A darkness fills the small hotel room that you two occupy. The cycle of abuse unfolds effortlessly: explosion, your reaction, his punishment for your reaction, his remorse and tenderness return. In all of this, you are left stunned, as if hit by an electric shock.
I overreacted, he says, eventually, a few hours later. No fucking shit, you say in your head. But you don’t respond. You stay quiet, looking out the car window as you two make your way to a nearby gym. He’ll want you to be over it now, to move on and not “sulk.” He hates it when he can’t control you, especially the timing of your reactions to him, the moments you’ve pulled away from him, and there is palpable distance between you two, distance that he put there. What he didn’t grasp in his “overreaction,” and what you tried to explain, was that with each blow he made on you, he pushed you further and further away. Please, you’re trying to beg; you’re pushing me away. Despite your begging, he would eventually push you off the edge of a cliff.
In his overreaction, you predicted what was happening. He made an assumption. And assumptions without curiosity are dangerous. How much hurt could have been saved with a pause and a, hey, what’s that quote about? It feels like it’s about me–is it? But that’s not how that moment played out. Nor any of the other countless moments like it. His assumption was like a shield, a barrier he used to keep threats out. But the thing about barriers and shields is that they are great at keeping threats out, and great at keeping love from getting out or in. And that’s exactly what happened in that exchange. He decided what that quote on your phone meant or didn’t mean. He decided you were a threat. And he decided to punish and push that threat away. His awareness was so far offline.
During that fight later that day, before his empty bullshit apology, you sat outside somewhere on a curb outside of a gym. He was punishing you for still being upset about the fight that transpired just moments before. You couldn’t take it, his coldness and impatience for your pain. You weren’t over it fast enough, according to him. He accused you of choosing “to be negative.” So you walked away, trying to catch your breath as you gasped. Even in walking away, he labeled you as “dramatic.” A simmering ache began to pulse in your chest and through your entire body. You sat there on the curb, between a parked car and a dumpster, head between your knees as you cried. It’s ironic how, when that day started, that quote had nothing to do with him, and now, with tears streaming down your cheeks, it has everything to do with him.
Why is “the love of your life” staring at the concrete beneath her feet with tears on her face? Why is the person you say you love and respect the most of anyone in the world sitting in a parking lot, alone, reeling from the words she just heard you say to her and about her? Why are you still punishing her now that she is rightfully upset for the way you spoke to her? Why?!
He never left the gym to check on you. He’s angry with you now that you’re still upset. Several minutes passed as you sat there on that curb crying. He carried on with his workout, determined to punish you for your reaction to his behavior. But while he left you there on the curb, neither of you quite realized that you carried on, too. Your nervous system adapted yet again, learning from him that you are not safe here. The result: pulling away and shutting down. Cause and effect. Nothing happens in a vacuum. You wonder if he’s ever understood that.
Nothing about this experience is adorable or cute. Everything about this is dangerous and wrong.
