3 Red Flags I Ignored Before I Got Married

Hi there, I ignored three major red flags before I married my ex-husband. And when I say “ignored,” I need to be clear about what that actually means. I didn’t miss them. I saw them. I felt them in my body — that uncomfortable, uneasy sensation in my gut that something was off. But I didn’t listen to that feeling. I didn’t raise my concerns. I didn’t initiate conversations about what I was noticing. And most importantly, I fundamentally did not believe I had a right to say anything. I thought speaking up would rock the boat, and I was terrified that if I brought up my concerns, I would lose him. So I didn’t say anything. I performed the role of the understanding, easy-going partner who didn’t have needs or boundaries. I was a strong-willed, opinionated woman with a strong sense of self in certain areas of my life, but my self-esteem wasn’t high enough in this relationship. I was abandoning myself over and over, choosing his comfort over my own nervous system’s signals. And here’s what I know now that I wish I’d known then: relationships don’t stand a chance if people aren’t honest with each other. They can’t survive if we’re not willing to inconvenience the other person with our feelings and our point of view. Real relationships need the truth. They need two people who can communicate openly, who can tolerate difficult conversations, who understand that friction isn’t the enemy — it’s how we grow and repair. Have you checked out this week’s episode of Jillian on Love? I’m joined by Harvard psychologist Dr. Ellen Langer for a powerful conversation about mindfulness, mindset, and how the way we perceive things shapes our relationships and our lives. So here are the three biggest red flags I ignored, and what I’ve learned about why I ignored them. I watched my ex consistently not respond to texts or calls from friends. People would reach out, and he would just ignore them. Friendships would slowly fade because he wouldn’t maintain them. And instead of seeing this as concerning information about his relational capacity, I felt special that I was the only person he was responding to! Looking back, that was incredibly immature. It was also a sign of my own insecurity — I was getting validation from being “chosen” over others, rather than asking the more important question: What does this pattern tell me about how he maintains relationships? I didn’t bring this up. I didn’t say, “I’ve noticed you don’t respond to your friends. Can we talk about that?” I was afraid that bringing it up would make me seem controlling or judgmental. But here’s what I know now: how someone treats their friendships is information about their relational capacity. If someone has a pattern of letting relationships fade, of not responding, or of estrangement, that tells you something big about what they value. And if they don’t value the people in their life, what would that mean about being in a relationship with them? What does it say about their ability to maintain connection, repair ruptures, and stay present when things get difficult? About a month before our wedding, my ex told me he’d been on a mild mood stabilizer for years. And in the same conversation, he mentioned he’d just stopped taking it. Cold turkey. No discussion with me or, apparently, with his doctor. This was a double issue. First, I had a right to know he was on medication that stabilized his moods. That’s information that directly impacts a partnership. Second, making the unilateral decision to stop taking it without any conversation with me was not ok. I know it can be hard to tell someone you’re on medication. There’s shame, fear of judgment, worry about how they’ll react. I have deep compassion for how scary that vulnerability can be. But in a partnership, we need transparency. We need to be able to share information that affects both people. And we need to make decisions together about things that will impact the relationship. When he told me, he didn’t really apologize. He showed no vulnerability about why he’d kept it from me or what his fears were around it. There was no real conversation about what going off the medication might mean for him or for us. And I didn’t push for a conversation. I didn’t say, “We need to talk about this more.” I minimized it because I didn’t want to create conflict right before the wedding. I didn’t want to be the difficult one. I didn’t believe my need for transparency and shared decision-making was valid. I was abandoning myself. Every time there was tension, or I brought up something that bothered me, my ex would pull away. He would shut down emotionally and stop communicating. I had to guess how he was feeling. I want to be clear: I’m not talking about someone who needs time to process before they can talk. Some people aren’t immediately emotive and need space to understand what they’re feeling before they can articulate it. That’s a valid communication style. This was different. This was emotional withholding. This was using silence and withdrawal as a way to punish me for having feelings or needs. This was refusing to engage or repair. And here’s what I understand now about secure attachment: you cannot withhold love and connection every time there’s conflict and expect to build trust. (This obviously doesn’t apply to situations where there’s abuse and safety is the concern.) Healthy relationships require both people to stay present during difficulty. To be able to say, “I’m overwhelmed and need a break, but I want to come back to this conversation in an hour.” To practice repair after rupture. But I didn’t know how to ask for that. I didn’t have the language or the self-worth to say, “The way you withdraw when I bring something up doesn’t feel safe to me. We need to find a different way to handle conflict.” Instead, I learned to walk on eggshells. I learned not to bring things up. I learned to manage my own dysregulation alone because I couldn’t count on him to stay connected when things were not perfect and easy. Looking back, these red flags were showing me that we didn’t have the foundation for a secure, healthy relationship. But I couldn’t see it at the time because I was operating from my own unhealed wounds and insecurity. But real love—secure love—requires honesty. It requires two people who can communicate openly, who can tolerate uncomfortable conversations, and who understand that speaking your truth isn’t rocking the boat. It’s honoring yourself and giving the relationship a chance to be real. Your gut feelings are information from your nervous system. When something feels off, that’s your body trying to tell you something important. And you have every right to speak up, to ask questions, to expect transparency and partnership in decision-making. So, be brave and have the conversation. Love, Jillian