In my twenties, I went through relationship after relationship — each one serious, each one certain. One man asked me to marry him. Our parents met to discuss the wedding.
Then I found out he was cheating. I left immediately.
What followed was the darkest period of my life. I was single for four years — not by choice, but because I was broken. I threw myself into self-work, healing, learning everything I could about why I kept ending up in the wrong relationships.
And somewhere in that darkness, I made a promise to myself:
"The next man I date will be the man I marry."
He was. But it wasn't that simple.
When I met my husband, I almost ruined it. I pushed him away. Got scared. I even broke up with him. Every wound I hadn't fully healed came rushing to the surface — the fear, the self-sabotage, the part of me that didn't believe I deserved it.
But the pull was too strong. And because I had done the deep work, I recognized what was happening. I knew how to come back. We ended up together — and we're still together.