We have become extremely good at spotting red flags. He takes four hours to reply? Red flag. She still follows her ex? Red flag. He says he “doesn’t really believe in labels”? Please evacuate the building. Doesn’t she like brunch? Frankly, seek legal counsel.

We have entire vocabularies dedicated to identifying other people’s problematic behaviour. We’ve learned about attachment styles, love bombing, emotional availability, avoidant behaviour, toxic communication, narcissism, gaslighting and approximately seventeen different ways someone can use a full stop at the end of a text message to ruin your afternoon. And honestly, some of this is useful.

We should know what unhealthy behaviour looks like. We should have standards. We should notice when someone consistently treats us badly. We should be able to recognise manipulation, disrespect and patterns that make us feel smaller rather than safer. But somewhere along the way, we became so good at identifying everyone else’s red flags that we forgot one tiny detail: We are also somebody’s.

Not necessarily in a dramatic way. You don’t have to be secretly running a pyramid scheme or emotionally terrorising your partner to qualify. You might simply be someone’s red flag because you need three business days to process your feelings. You might disappear into your own world when you’re stressed. You might say “I’m fine” when you are very much not fine and then become mysteriously offended when the other person believes you. You might be terrible at texting. You might overthink everything. You might need reassurance. Or you might need absolutely no reassurance whatsoever and instead require eight uninterrupted hours of silence, a snack and the complete absence of questions.

The funny thing is that we tend to imagine red flags as belonging to other people. We are the reasonable ones. We are self-aware. We’ve done the work. We listened to the podcast. We bought the journal. We know our attachment style. We have even used the phrase “I want to communicate this healthily” before sending a 900-word WhatsApp message at 1:13 a.m.

Personal growth is beautiful. Personal growth with Wi-Fi is dangerous. Because knowing the vocabulary doesn’t necessarily mean you’ve mastered the behaviour. You can know exactly what gaslighting is and still become defensive when someone tells you that you’ve hurt them. You can understand boundaries and still get annoyed when someone sets one. You can know that communication is important and still decide that “I’ll deal with it later” is a perfectly reasonable relationship strategy, despite having said “later” approximately fourteen times.

Knowing the terminology is not the same as knowing what to do with it. You can understand why someone is reacting the way they are and still think, “Yes, but could they perhaps react in a way that is more convenient for me?” And this is where the red-flag conversation gets interesting. Because there is a difference between having flaws and refusing to work on them.

We all have patterns. We all have weird habits. We all have emotional blind spots. Some of us are actively trying to become better humans. Some of us are occasionally trying. And some of us have apparently decided that “that’s just how I am” is a legally binding document that nobody is permitted to appeal.

There is a world of difference between the person who says, “I know I shut down when I’m overwhelmed, and I’m trying to communicate that better,” and the person who says, “That’s just how I am. Deal with it.” One is self-awareness. The other is a hostage negotiation. Nobody is asking for perfection. Actually, perfection sounds exhausting. Imagine dating someone who never miscommunicates, never gets jealous, never says the wrong thing, never needs reassurance, never gets overwhelmed and always knows exactly how they feel. You’d probably suspect they were AI. Or worse: a LinkedIn thought leader.

Relationships aren’t built between two perfectly healed people floating peacefully through life, communicating exclusively in calm, measured sentences while drinking herbal tea. They’re built between two people who occasionally misunderstand each other, get defensive, forget things, have bad days, say something badly and then, hopefully, come back to the conversation. Sometimes you’ll be the emotionally evolved one. Sometimes you’ll be the idiot. Hopefully, you can recognise which is which.

The real question isn’t whether you are someone’s red flag. Of course you are. The question is what you do when someone points it out. Do you laugh? Do you listen? Do you apologise? Do you try? Do you say, “Actually, you’re right”? Or do you immediately open a group chat titled “Can You Believe This Person?”

Because effort matters. Not performative effort. Not “I bought a book about emotional intelligence, therefore I am emotionally intelligent” effort. Actual effort. The quiet kind. Trying to communicate better. Trying not to repeat the same mistake. Trying to understand why you react the way you do. And perhaps that’s what we’ve lost in the great red-flag era: Nuance. We have become very comfortable turning people into lists.

Green flag. Red flag. Beige flag. Walking red flag. Situationship flag. Whatever flag TikTok has invented this week. But people are not airport security. Not every inconvenient trait is a reason to evacuate. Someone can have a red flag and still be a good person. Someone can have a difficult pattern and still be working on it. And you can do the same. That last part is the one worth remembering. Because self-awareness is not supposed to be a weapon you use exclusively in other people’s direction.

The goal isn’t to become completely free of red flags. That’s impossible. You are a human being, not a freshly released psychological assessment with perfect scores across every category. The goal is to become increasingly aware of the flags you carry. Maybe even learn how to fold them. So yes, keep your standards. Leave relationships that hurt you. Pay attention to patterns. Trust yourself when something consistently feels wrong. You don’t need to tolerate harmful behaviour simply because the person can explain their childhood attachment style very eloquently.

But every once in a while, look in the mirror before opening another investigation into someone else’s Instagram following. Because yesterday, you were someone’s red flag too. Maybe you’re still on their list. And perhaps that’s okay. We’re all works in progress. Some of us are doing the work. Some of us have just downloaded the workbook. Some of us have highlighted three pages and called it a breakthrough. And some of us are still insisting the red flag is actually just a very passionate shade of beige.

But if you’re trying, learning, apologising, growing and occasionally catching yourself before you repeat the same old nonsense, you’re probably doing alright. Not perfect. Not fully healed. Not spiritually enlightened by 8:00 a.m. Just trying to become a slightly better person than you were yesterday. After all, being someone’s red flag isn’t necessarily the most embarrassing thing in the world. Refusing to ever look at it might be.

With love, chaos, and jazz. Always.