"He's just bad at texting."
"He's still healing from his last relationship."
"He said he's working on communicating better."
None of that was on a label. I had to write it myself, in real time, usually while crying in my car in a parking lot.
The good morning texter who thought that was the whole relationship. The one who talked about his ex so much I started to feel like the rebound in real time. The one who was warm until things got serious, then suddenly had "a lot going on."
I wasn't looking for perfect. I was looking for accurate. Just tell me what I'm working with before I hand you six months of my life.
Honestly, at this point, I'd read the label before I even looked at the face.
Dating would be so much easier if people came with warning labels.
"Emotionally unavailable."
"Will disappear when things get serious."
"Still obsessed with his ex."
"Thinks communication means sending good morning every day."
Honestly, I'd appreciate the transparency. I think about every relationship I could've skipped if there'd just been a label on the box. A little tag hanging off him like a mattress:
"Warning: will love-bomb you for three weeks, then vanish the second it gets real."
Instead I had to find out the hard way. Piece it together over months. Notice the pattern only after I was already attached, already invested, already explaining his behavior to my friends like a defense lawyer.
Peace became more attractive to me than excitement.
I used to think chaos was chemistry. The uncertainty, the mixed signals, the "we broke up three times but we always come back" kind of love. It felt intense. I called it passion. I mistook the adrenaline for connection.
Looking back, I wasn't excited. I was on edge, and I just didn't have another word for it yet.
I remember waiting for texts and feeling my whole mood shift depending on the tone of the reply. Reading a delayed response like it meant something. Confusing anxiety for butterflies because they live in the same part of your stomach.
Then I met peace. And at first, it felt boring. No games. No guessing. Just someone who said what they meant and meant what they said. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, because I didn't know how to trust something that didn't hurt a little.
It never dropped. That was the whole point.
Now excitement looks a lot like a red flag wearing a nice outfit. And peace looks like someone who lets my nervous system finally exhale.
I used to chase the high. Now I chase the calm. Only one of them ever actually lasted.
The older I get, the less impressed I am by words.
Anybody can tell you they love you. Anybody can promise they'll change. Anybody can tell you what you want to hear in the exact moment you need to hear it. That part's easy. That part's cheap, honestly.
What's hard is the Tuesday after the apology. The random Wednesday when no one's watching and no one's keeping score. The month after the big declaration, when the excitement's worn off and it's just... life again.
I used to fall for the speech. The grand gesture, the perfectly timed text, the "you mean everything to me" right when I was about to walk away. I'd hear it and think, okay, they get it now. Things will be different.
But I stopped grading people on delivery. I started grading them on follow-through.
Because talk doesn't take out the trash. Talk doesn't show up early when you said you would. Talk doesn't remember the small thing you mentioned once in passing and act on it without being asked.
I'm paying attention to what happens after the conversation.
Actions have a very different vocabulary. And most people, it turns out, are only fluent in one language.
What's a phrase people said to you that you don't fall for anymore? 👇
@_iamhershayyy Exactly. At 30+, “I like you” should come with some level of intention. Let your actions match your words. The teenage guessing games can stay in high school.
I slept through the night. I stopped mentally drafting explanations for things I hadn't even done yet. I went a whole week without apologizing for existing.
That's when it hit me....I hadn't been in a relationship. I'd been on standby.
Peace is not the same as loneliness.Don't confuse the two.
Unpopular opinion:
Being single is better than being in a relationship that constantly makes you anxious.
I spent two years checking his location, rereading texts for hidden meaning, apologizing for things I didn't do wrong.
I got good at it too. Good at reading his tone before he even said a word.Good at rehearsing conversations in the shower so they wouldn't turn into fights.
Good at shrinking myself just enough to keep the peace, except it was never actually peace. It was just quiet.
I told myself that was normal. That love was supposed to be a little bit of work, a little bit of worry. Everyone said relationships take effort, so I figured the constant knot in my stomach was just... effort.
Then I was single again.
And for the first time in years, my stomach didn't hurt.