Obsession.

Obsession doesn't announce itself. It doesn't knock. It slides in wearing the mask of love, protection, worry — words that sound safe until you realize they've become a leash.

I know this because I lived it.

The world was closed. COVID had shut down cities, shut down routines, shut down normal — but not New York. NYC was still breathing, still innovating, still finding a way to feed its people through plexiglass and patio heaters. It was a Tuesday. I wanted tacos.

I found a spot in a popular Brooklyn neighborhood. Shrimp tacos, a margarita with enough spice to make my eyes water, and a moment — just a moment — to sit with my own thoughts. Because if I'm honest, I was already sitting there wondering how my life had started slipping out of my hands.

Then I saw him. Walking toward me.

My mouth fell open before my brain caught up. My heart was pounding somewhere near my throat. My food had just hit the table — I hadn't even picked up a fork — and there he was, foaming at the mouth like a ravenous street dog, closing the distance between us.

He grabbed my wrist. Twisted it. Forced me up out of my seat like I was an object he was repositioning, not a person. Somehow, in the chaos, he slid my watch clean off my wrist. I don't remember deciding to run. My body just did it — inside of the ‘shut down’ restaurant, into the restroom, door locked behind me, back pressed against it like that thin piece of wood could hold back a man who had already decided violence was the plan.

He beat on that door. Not knocked — beat. I could hear the restaurant staff screaming at him, threatening to call the police. It didn't slow him down. The banging kept coming, relentless, like a rat scaling the tracks in the subway.

Can you imagine my terror? The disbelief — that the person who once whispered "I just worry about you" was now trying to break down a bathroom door to harm me?

And then, just as suddenly as it started — it stopped. Momentarily.

That pause is not mercy. That pause is the eye of the storm.

This Is What Obsessive Behavior Looks Like

We're taught to read jealousy as passion. Constant texting as devotion. "I just need to know you're safe" as care. We are handed a script that tells us obsession is romantic — right up until the moment it isn't.

Here's the truth: obsessive behavior is not love with the volume turned up. It's control wearing really bad makeup.

It starts small. The extra check-ins. The questions about who you were with. The way they show up somewhere "coincidentally." The watching. The waiting. The need to know where you are at all times, dressed up as concern. And because it's wrapped in language like I care about you and I just want you safe, we excuse it. We explain it away. We tell ourselves it's flattering, even, to be wanted that badly.

But obsession has a trajectory. It doesn't plateau. It doesn't stay contained in sweet, watchful glances. It escalates — from watching to following, from following to controlling, from controlling to stalking, and stalking is harassment with a deadline. It is a vicious cycle that spins out of control, and it spins fast. What starts as "I worry about you" can end with a locked restroom door and a man's fists against wood, trying to get to you the way he already got to your wrist.

If This Is Happening to You

If you are reading this and something in your stomach just dropped — if you recognized a piece of yourself, a piece of him, in what I just described — I need you to hear me clearly:

This is not love. You are not overreacting. You are not "too sensitive." You are in danger, and danger deserves a plan, not an explanation.

Here's where you start:

Name it. Obsessive behavior thrives in denial — yours and everyone else's. The moment you call it what it is (control, not love), you take your power back.

Document everything. Screenshots, texts, timestamps, witnesses, photos of injuries, incident reports. You may need this later, and your future self will thank you for building the case now, while it's fresh.

Build an exit plan before you need one. Know your fastest route out of any room you're in with him. Keep a bag with essentials — ID, cash, a spare phone, medication — somewhere he can't access. Tell one person you trust the truth, not the sanitized version.

Leave loud or leave quiet — but leave smart. Sometimes the safest exit is the one nobody sees coming. Talk to an advocate about timing. Leaving is statistically the most dangerous moment in an abusive relationship — plan accordingly.

Call the National Domestic Violence Hotline: 1-800-799-7233, or text "START" to 88788. They are available 24/7, and they will not tell you what to do — they'll help you figure out what's safest for you.

The Cycle Ends With You

I sat in that bathroom, back against a door that was taking a beating meant for me, and I did not know yet that I would walk out of that relationship and into a life dedicated to making sure other women recognize the warning signs before they end up locked in a bathroom of their own.

Obsession will always try to convince you it's love. It is your job — your survival — to know the difference. Watching is not devotion. Control is not care. Terror is not passion.

You are not required to stay inside a love story that was actually a cage the entire time.

You are not broken. You are blooming — and blooming things grow toward the light, not away from it.