🚩 When Every Color Looks Like a Red Flag 🚩

There was a time when I could fall for someone just because of the way they held a cigarette. Or how they said "I'll text you once I reach" and actually did. But now, I feel like I'm holding a flag scanner at all times. Emotional unavailability? Red flag. Delayed response? Red flag. No weekend plan in sight? Flaming, blood-red flag.

We live in a time where we're more aware than ever—of patterns, of attachment styles, of avoidant behaviors. We know what breadcrumbs look like. We know when someone's "energy is off." And while this awareness has protected many of us from years of emotional chaos, it's also made some of us flinch at the slightest deviation from perfection.

Like that time I met someone who made me laugh from the first date. He was playful, curious, warm in tone but never too deep. The conversations felt like jazz—fluid, flirty, unrehearsed. But two weeks in, I realized I was doing most of the emotional labour: I initiated, I asked the questions, I set the tone. And when I paused, so did the connection. Red flag?

I remember sitting with that. My thumb hovered over my phone, wondering if wanting to say, "Hey, I want to know you beyond the fun," was too much. I didn't send it. I waited to see if he would fill the space I left. He didn't.

In another life—okay, six months ago—I would've texted anyway. Because I used to believe love needed nudging. That effort meant investment. That if I held the emotional reins long enough, someone would eventually meet me there. But now, after reading every thread on attachment styles and listening to a therapist say "match energy, don’t chase it," I let it go. Not because I stopped caring, but because I learned how heavy it is to always be the one keeping things afloat.

But here's the truth: not every mismatch is a red flag. Sometimes it's just a yellow light, a pause, a "maybe not now." Not every slow reply means disinterest. Not every dry phase means you're being ghosted. Sometimes, people are just distracted. Sometimes, people like you, but not at the pace you want. Sometimes, they don't know what they want—but that doesn't make them villains.

Still, I don't regret walking away. Because here's what I’ve learned: my red flags are not just warnings about others—they're reflections of what I need. And maybe what I'm really asking when I say, "Is this a red flag?" is: "Can I sit with not knowing? Can I let someone unfold instead of auditioning them for my future?"

We're not wrong for being cautious. But maybe the goal isn't to avoid all red flags—maybe it's to get better at knowing when something is a real threat, and when it's just a moment of human messiness. Maybe we can let people be flawed and still decide if they're right for us.

Maybe some flags aren't red. They're just faded pink, carried by someone still learning how to love.

Just like us.