Why ‘he’s not my type’ might be the biggest green flag of all

After my divorce, I genuinely believed I was healed. I’d spent years in therapy healing my inner child, regulating my nervous system and reclaiming my self-worth. And in the months after my marriage ended, I felt stronger than ever. Empowered. Free. Whole.

That was, until I started dating.

That’s when I learned that relational wounds – traumas and insecurities that only exist between people – can’t be fully accessed until you’re in a relationship. I was devastated. I didn’t want to heal in a relationship. I didn’t want to open myself up again, be vulnerable, or let someone else help me heal. Most of all, I didn’t want anyone to see the wounds I thought no longer existed.

But I quickly learned that relational healing only happens in relationship, not in isolation. There’s no avoiding it. No self-help book, no solo meditation retreat, no morning ritual can replicate the mirror that another human being holds up to your heart.

He wasn’t my type – he was better

Coming out of a long-term relationship, I knew exactly what I did and didn’t want. I had my ‘list’ – and unlike in my 20s, it didn’t just say ‘tall, dark and handsome’. It was detailed. It focused on his emotional depth, his ability to hold space, the way I’d feel in his presence. I wanted someone kind, grounded and secure. I wanted the kind of man who felt like home.

But the man I craved was nothing like the man I was used to being with. I craved calm, but I only knew chaos. I craved safe, but I was addicted to toxic passion. I craved depth, but I feared the vulnerability it demanded.

So when Gav came along, everything in my body didn’t know what to do with the way he made me feel. He didn’t light up those same wires. He didn’t make my stomach flip or send me into overthinking spirals. He was calm, grounded and gentle. He didn’t chase or pull away. He didn’t try to impress me or fix me. He just… was.

So I found myself thinking “he’s not my type” – or maybe just a friend. The thoughts that so many of us mistake for truth when, in fact, it is our way of protecting us from the unfamiliar that we wished for. And I almost ran.

Because when you’ve lived in survival mode for years, safety can feel uncomfortable, peace can feel unsettling, and love without chaos can feel boring.

But there was no trick – just a man who showed up; a man who kept his word. He didn’t flinch when I cried, and he didn’t shame me for my past or tiptoe around my pain. He met me in it – with steadiness, with warmth, and with the kind of love that didn’t demand a performance – just presence.

Gav wasn’t my ‘type’, but he was what I prayed for – and it still blows my mind that those two things can co-exist. And that was the most beautiful surprise of all.

Spotting the green flags in a healthy relationship

Dating after divorce isn’t just about starting again, it’s about unlearning what you thought love was. It’s seeing that the spark you’ve always chased may have been nervous system activation, not connection. It’s realising that the safest love might feel unfamiliar at first, and that unfamiliar doesn’t mean wrong. It means new.

We’re taught to spot red flags. But what about green ones? The steady phone calls. The warm coffee waiting for you. The way he holds space when you spiral. The softness that doesn’t provoke your defences, but slowly melts them. The kind of love that doesn’t just feel good but lets you be good, exactly as you are.

So if you’re dating after heartbreak, and someone walks into your life who makes you start thinking “he’s just not my type”, that might not be the worst thing with your track record girl.

Because the real green flag – the one that matters most – is the one that lets your nervous system rest.