My commitment

I remember how he proposed to me in front of 850 people. It was the end of summer, during the closing ceremony of the Ängsbacka Tantra Festival.

I was just about to express gratitude to all the co-creators when he suddenly stepped onto the stage, took the microphone, and said:

“This festival has been so enlightening, but there's still one question that remains.”

He fell to his knees, and as I said yes, the entire festival crowd erupted in cheers. We danced to Donna Lewis "I love you always forever", we cried and laughed together. I never thought he would want to commit to our love in such a grand way, and in that moment, I was the happiest woman on earth.

But do you ever feel a split between your mind and your intuition?

I do.

And the more I ignore my intuition, the quieter it becomes.

That proposal should have felt like clarity, but instead, it clouded my intuition and left me confused.

Two days later, the ring he gave me broke in two. It was a black ring made of stone that he had bought in the festival shop, and it shattered while I was clapping as my son sang a song to me. I felt a sharp pain in my heart because I knew—deep down—that this was a sign. A sign that our love would not survive. But my mind resisted this painful truth. I wanted him. I wanted to build a life with him.

When I called to tell him the ring had broken, he didn't say much. I had expected him to reassure me, to say, “Let's get new rings, one for me and one for you.” But he didn't.

The ache in my chest grew, and after a few days, I called him again. “I want us to get real rings of silver, one for me and one for you.”

“I don't want a ring,” he replied. “Let's get tattoos instead.”

I was devastated. His hands were already covered in tattoos—a tattooed ring would barely be noticeable. On my naked skin, though, it would be an eternal reminder of this moment, of not being fully accepted.

“I want a ring,” I told him firmly. “And I want you to wear one too.”

He eventually sent me his ring size, and I bought two rings. I engraved them with the words “love” and “freedom”—love for me and my need for safety, freedom for him and his desire for independence.

During a romantic trip to the mountains around Christmas, I gave him his ring. But it was too big and he chose to wear it only when he was with me, removing it for work and whenever we were apart.

It hurt so much because deep down, I knew: he didn't want to marry me. After months of persistence, he finally resized the ring. But my inner voice kept screaming: He will never be fully yours.

One spring afternoon, sitting at a sunlit café, I asked him:

“When are we going to plan our wedding?”

He hesitated, then sighed.

“Okay, let's get married, but it will be a small wedding.”

“Yes, of course,” I agreed. “Small can be intimate and beautiful.”

“And I don't want to invite any of my friends,” he added. “Only yours.”

“Why?” I asked, my voice trembling. “Why not your friends?”

He couldn't give me a clear answer. I swallowed my tears, feeling the rejection deep in my bones. Still, I stayed with him. I wanted so badly for him to be the man of my dreams. But my body ached with sadness and grief.

In the fall of that same year, I finally asked him outright:

“You don't want to marry me, do you?”

“No, I don't,” he said.

I cried. “Then why did you propose to me in front of all my friends and students?”

“I just wanted you to feel safe,” he replied.

End of discussion.

I was devastated, yet I stayed. Hoping, waiting, wishing for him to change. But he didn't. And in the process, I lost trust in myself. My intuition faded to a whisper.

We eventually broke up, but he kept coming back with messages: “I miss you,” or “No other woman is like you.” Each time, confusion would wash over me. Should I believe him? My intuition said, He will never commit. My mind argued, Maybe this time he will change.

But one day, I decided to choose myself.

To listen to my inner voice. To honor my truth.

I crafted my own silver ring and engraved one word inside: TRUST.

I threw away the engagement ring I had held onto for so long, along with all the false hope it carried. In a heartfelt ritual, I made a vow—to commit to myself, to honor my intuition, and to never allow anyone to play with my emotions again.

This time, I chose me.