This is a story of when someone tries to make you a weapon in their relationship. 

Ive lived in said season. I had spent so much time questioning myself, wondering where I had gone wrong – I didn’t realize I was the subject of the greatest lie ever told. The rage inside was reminiscent of another season I felt in my life- this time I was unwilling to sign up for another one. 

I said something in an interview recently that has stayed with me:

“There is no greater honor as a pastor than to be trusted with someone’s most intimate secrets in their moments of need” And if you don’t care for those moments with the utmost respect, then why even be a pastor? I mean that.

Because when people are hurting- when life is splitting open and shame is loud and fear is real- to be trusted in that space is sacred. 

And after twenty years of doing what I did, and continuing to do what I do now, I can tell you this:

I have seen more red flags in relationships than I ever imagined possible.

Some are obvious.
Some are subtle.
Some don’t fully reveal themselves until long after the relationship is over.

And recently, I got reminded of one of the biggest ones.

Not just a warning sign.
Not just a moment of discomfort.
But one of those red flags that, when it finally becomes intolerable, hopefully gives you the freedom to walk away.

I was out with friends, happily enjoying my usual fifth-wheel role, when my phone lit up. It was a Facebook audio call. Which made absolutely no sense, because I haven’t had a Facebook account since August of 2025.

Still, I looked at the name. And immediately answered. It was an ex-boyfriend.

“Hey Joni, it’s me. Ben. I heard you wrote a book.”

That alone was enough to throw me.

“Hi Ben. I did. This is a surprise. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, it’s been a while. How are you?”

“I’m good, Ben.”

Then the small talk started. And while he talked, I kept moving. The bathroom was too crowded. The patio was too cold.
I finally found an empty storage closet, flipped on the light, saw that it could be locked from the inside, and camped out there so I could actually hear him.

Then his tone changed. “Yeah, so…”

And then it began.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“Well… I’m a piece of shit.”

“Okay…”

“Yeah, so I treated you terribly. I used you. You know that…”

There was more. A lot more. Repeated confessions. Repeated self-loathing. Repeated references to how badly he had treated me.

And honestly? None of it landed the way he probably thought it would.

Because it didn’t feel like clarity. It felt like something else.

So I asked him again:

“Okay, but what is happening? Are you okay?”

And then the truth started coming out.

“I shouldn’t have done what I did to you. She keeps bringing you up.”

I paused.

“She?”

“My girlfriend. Well… now my fiancée. Every time we fight, she brings you up. She always brings you up.”

And suddenly, the whole thing started making sense.

“Last night she was flirting with this guy, drinking, all up on him…”

“Your fiancée?”

“Yeah. I just… I just wanted to talk to you. She brings you up, and… you know… you’re just doing so good…”

And that was the moment it clicked for me.

Not because he was calling for healing.

But because he was calling for relief.

And there is a difference.

So I stopped him.

“Okay, wait- Ben, this is not okay.”

He started to protest. But I kept going.

“You should not have called me. This is not going to help you. I cannot help you. This is only going to make your situation worse. I’m going to let you go. I cannot help you. I’m sorry.”

And I hung up.

That was hard for me.

Because I genuinely do try to be available to people when they’re hurting. I care deeply. I listen deeply. I have spent most of my life making room for people in moments of pain.

But this was not one of those moments.

This was not confession.
This was not repair.
This was not closure.

This was triangulation.

And if you’ve never heard that word before, let me explain it plainly:

Triangulation is when tension between two people gets managed by dragging in a third.

And it is one of the biggest red flags in a relationship.

Sometimes it looks dramatic.
Sometimes it looks subtle.

But it almost always sounds something like this:

• “She always brings you up.”
• “He keeps comparing me to you.”
• “Can I just talk to you for a second?”
• “You’re the only one who understands.”
• “I just need closure.”
• “I wanted to explain.”

But underneath it all, what is often really happening is this:

Someone is trying to use a third person to regulate pain they need to deal with directly.

And that third person becomes a weapon.

A comparison point.
A threat.
A fantasy.
A scapegoat.
A source of comfort.
A symbol.

But not a person.

And that is exactly what I realized in that closet. I was no longer a person in this story.

I was being used as a tool inside someone else’s relationship.

And I refuse to do that anymore.

The longer I sat with that phone call, the more I realized it contained four very specific red flags that I think a lot of people miss.

Red Flag #1: They contact you in secrecy or emotional urgency

Healthy people usually seek repair with clarity, ownership, and respect.

Dysfunctional people often reach out from inside the storm.

They call when they are flooded.
Lonely.
Ashamed.
Panicked.
Or desperate for relief.

And because compassionate people tend to respond quickly to pain, urgency can feel like responsibility.

But it isn’t.

When someone reaches for you in chaos, it is worth asking:

Are they seeking resolution- or are they seeking regulation?

Because those are not the same thing.

A lot of people do not actually want healing. They want relief.

And if you have ever been someone’s safe place, they may come looking for you not because it is healthy, but because you are familiar.

That familiarity can feel sacred. But sometimes it is just access.

Red Flag #2: Their apology is tangled up in their current crisis

At first, his words sounded like remorse.

“I treated you terribly.”
“I used you.”
“I shouldn’t have done what I did.”

And if you value accountability, that kind of language can disarm you. It can make you think,  Maybe this is a real moment. Maybe this is genuine.

But the truth usually reveals itself in what comes next. And in this case, what came next was:

“She keeps bringing you up.”

That’s when I knew this was not about my healing. It was about his discomfort. A real apology is centered on the person who was harmed. A real apology does not demand access. It does not create pressure. It does not come with an emotional assignment attached.

But when an apology is tangled up in someone’s current crisis, it often becomes something else entirely.

It becomes a way to:

• get comfort,
• reduce guilt,
• revisit old access,
• test emotional availability,
• or use the past to survive the present.

That is not repair. That is emotional extraction.

Red Flag #3: You are being used as a comparison object

His fiancée “keeps bringing me up.”

Which means, whether I consented to it or not, I had already become part of the emotional ecosystem of their relationship.

That is a problem.

Because once you are no longer being treated like a person and are instead being used like a symbol, the whole thing has already gone sideways.

In relationships like this, the third person often becomes:

• the ex,
• the standard,
• the threat,
• the fantasy,
• the scapegoat,
• the proof,
• the one who “understood,”
• the one who “got away.”

And once that starts happening, you are no longer free to just be a person.

You are now carrying meaning that does not belong to you.

That is one of the clearest signs of dysfunction.

Because once a relationship starts feeding on outsiders, it is already sick.

Not just struggling.
Not just messy.
Not just “working through some things.”

Sick.

Red Flag #4: You feel pulled to help at your own expense

This one is the most dangerous of all.

Because if you are a pastor, a helper, an empath, a nurturer, a fixer, or simply someone who knows how to stay calm in other people’s pain, you will be especially vulnerable here.

Not because you are weak.

Because you are good.

Because your instinct is to care.
To listen.
To make room.
To understand the wound underneath the behavior.

And those are beautiful instincts.

But without boundaries, those same instincts can become the very thing that gets you used.

That was the hardest part of that call for me.

Not that he called. Not even that he was trying to use me as emotional relief. The hardest part was that I could feel the pull to stay.

To listen a little longer.
To be kind.
To be available.
To help him make sense of what he was feeling.

And if I had ignored my own wisdom in that moment, I could have told myself I was “just being compassionate.”

But compassion without boundaries becomes self-abandonment.

And what I knew in that moment was this:

If I stayed on that call, I would be helping him at my own expense.

I would be stepping back into a role I no longer belong in.

I would be allowing myself to become a weapon in someone else’s relationship.

Again.

And I refuse.

That refusal did not make me cruel.

It made me honest.

And honestly, that may be the deepest truth in all of this:

Just because someone is in pain does not mean you are the person meant to hold it.

That is true in ministry.
That is true in friendship.
That is true in dating.
That is true in family systems.
That is true anywhere love, guilt, history, and access have gotten tangled together.

Not every cry for help is a healthy invitation. Not every apology is repair. Not every vulnerable moment is sacred. Some moments are sacred. And some moments are simply old dysfunction looking for a familiar door.

That is what this was.

And it reminded me of something I think many of us need permission to say out loud:

You do not have to participate in someone else’s dysfunction just because they are hurting.

You do not have to answer every call.
You do not have to become closure.
You do not have to become comfort.
You do not have to become proof.
You do not have to become collateral damage in someone else’s unresolved chaos.

You are allowed to opt out.

You are allowed to hang up.

You are allowed to protect the version of yourself that worked very hard to heal.

So if you are the outsider getting pulled in- especially the ex, the former safe place, the old emotional home- please hear me:

You are not being invited into healing.

You are being recruited into dysfunction.

And sometimes the healthiest, most honest thing you can do is say:

“I cannot help you. I’m sorry.” And then mean it.

With all my love, xoxo J