The Red Flags I Didn’t See — Or Chose Not To

We all step into love and marriage carrying a dream that brews in every young heart — growing old together, laughing together, crying together, being each other’s rock-solid support. In happiness and in despair, under open skies and through life’s deepest waters, we imagine walking side by side.

But for some of us, the line between that dream and a nightmare becomes hazy.

Love becomes something we feel the need to prove rather than something meant to be received. In the disguise of care, comfort, and concern, we are slowly diminished. Tamed, quietly shamed, and gently conditioned to doubt ourselves.

Such is the power of this silent turmoil that instead of seeing and acknowledging the red flags in the relationship, we turn inward. We question ourselves. We blame ourselves. We tame and shame ourselves into a quiet submission that is too diminishing, too eroding, to be called love.

There was a time in my life when I was made to believe that love meant endurance.
When I thought strength meant silence.
When I mistook control for care and criticism for concern.

I didn’t see the red flags.
Or maybe I did — and painted them a softer colour so they wouldn’t hurt as much.

Somewhere along the way, I stopped being me.

I stopped wearing bright nail polish.
I silently put away my jewellery.
I stopped dressing up, laughing freely, feeling beautiful in my own skin.
I told myself these things didn’t matter. That they were “too feminine,” too needy. That they were shallow. That being “strong” meant not needing softness.

But the truth is, I wasn’t becoming stronger.
I was becoming smaller.

I learned to handle everything alone.
I learned to prove my worth daily.
I learned to silence my needs before they could be dismissed.

And I called it love.
I called it maturity.
I called it strength.

What I didn’t call it — was survival.

Looking back now, I see the red flags clearly. Not as dramatic moments, but as quiet, gradual erasures — the kind that happen so slowly you don’t realise you’re disappearing until one day you look in the mirror and don’t recognise the woman staring back.

This series isn’t about blame.
It isn’t about bitterness.
And it isn’t about portraying myself as a victim.

It is about awareness.

It is about unlearning the belief that love must be earned through sacrifice.
It is about desparenting myself — teaching the woman I am now what the girl I once was should have been taught:

That love does not shrink you.
That strength does not require hardness.
That femininity is not weakness.
And that losing yourself quietly is still losing yourself.

And I’m ready to talk about the red flags — not to relive the pain, but to release it. Not to point fingers, but to hold up a mirror. Because maybe someone else is standing where I once stood, convincing herself that this is just how relationships are supposed to feel.

I’m ready to talk to my old self.
Ready to hear her.
Ready to help her.
And finally, ready to heal her.

This is my journey back to myself.
One red flag at a time.