how would your ex paint you?

most people, when asked how their ex would describe them, shrug with that familiar mix of humor and bitterness and say, “oh, the lighting wouldn’t be flattering.” mine? i’d probably give the same answer. it’s almost instinctual—this idea that an ex will always see us through the dimmest lens, that they’ll highlight every flaw and call it the full story. it’s the easy narrative, the one we’ve all learned to rehearse.

but if you sit with the question a little longer, if you peel back the protective humor and the defensiveness, you start to realize how universal this pattern is. we take all the small, quirky things we once adored in someone—their strange habits, their oddities, the things that made them feel like home—and we twist them into flaws the second the love ends. traits that once felt endearing suddenly become talking points. green flags turn red in retrospect. softness gets rewritten as weakness. and sometimes, if we’re really hurting, we even fabricate new versions of a person, exaggerating their shadows and calling it “truth” because it makes the ending easier to swallow.

it’s sad, honestly. heartbreaking in a quiet, human way. because the truth is far gentler than the stories we build after the fall: every person we’ve ever loved was made of both brilliance and bruises, and so were we. none of us walk through a relationship unscarred or unflawed. we are all made of tender parts and difficult edges.

i could sit here and write a long list of the mistakes my exes made, the ways they hurt me, the pieces of myself i had to rebuild after them. i could paint them in dark strokes and call it honesty. but that wouldn’t be the whole truth—not even close. because i can also tell you about the warmth they carried, the ways they showed up, the laughter that spilled out naturally between us, the comfort of being loved by someone who once knew me intimately. i can tell you the good, and in my memory, that good glows brighter than the cracks.

we forget, sometimes, that just because a chapter ended doesn’t mean it wasn’t a beautiful one. we forget that we loved these people—fully, deeply, and by choice. we forget that our past selves were doing the best they could with the love and knowledge they had.

so when you talk about your ex, when you feel tempted to list their demons, remember this: you once looked at them with softness. you once saw their light before you fixated on their shadows. you once chose them, even if only for a moment in the vast sweep of your life.

as for how my ex would paint me? i’m sure their portrait isn’t perfect. i’m sure they’d capture my flaws, my spirals, my stubbornness, my humanity. but that’s their truth, not mine. and it doesn’t threaten who i am.

because i can say, without bitterness, that they are love. they are kindness. they are effort. they are empathy. they are someone i care for deeply. their flaws don’t erase the beauty, just like mine don’t erase the love i gave.

and maybe that’s the real answer:
we don’t need to be painted in perfect light to be remembered with grace.

with ink + bloom, 🌻