Sparkling Diamond, Mythical Scam

"I grew up in a world where a girl’s heartbeat was supposed to sync to the sparkle of a diamond, but life has a way of burning the script right out of your hands. Somewhere between the heartbreaks and the mornings I woke up breathing on my own, I learned that a ring is not magic, it is marketing. This piece, 'Sparkling Diamond, Mythical Scam,' is my snort and my 'Bull' to the old fairytales. I didn't need a ring to save me; I needed myself."

Sparkling Diamond, Mythical Scam

“The Ring That Was Supposed to Save Me”

I grew up in a world where a girl’s heartbeat was supposed to sync to the sparkle of a diamond.

Not her own pulse no, that would’ve been too wild, too sovereign but the promise of a man kneeling in front of her with a ring big enough to blind her to everything else.

We began our training early in life.

Magazine covers with smiling brides.

TV commercials where the woman gasped like she had been handed the keys to heaven.

Mothers whispering, “Just wait till you get your ring.”

And I believed it.

Of course I did.

I was a girl in those times raised on fairy tales, sitcoms, and the idea that a woman was not complete until a man chose her.

But life has a way of burning the script right out of your hands.

Somewhere between the heartbreaks, the disappointments, the “Is this all there is,” and the quiet mornings where I learned to breathe on my own… something shifted.

The girl who once swooned over diamonds grew up into a woman who snorts and says,

“Bull.”

“The Diamond That Was Supposed to Define Me”

In those days, girls were simply conditioned,

Groomed for marriage like it was their only destination.”

A diamond was not jewelry; it was a finish line.

A prize.

A promise.

A cultural cattle brand dressed up in sparkle.

Every magazine cover showed a woman gasping like she had been handed salvation.

Every commercial whispered the same sermon:

“If he loves you, he’ll prove it with a rock.”

And we believed it.

We were supposed to.

That was the air we breathed sweet, sugary, and laced with expectation.

Girls practiced signing his last name in their notebooks.

We rehearsed the moment he would kneel.

We daydreamed like it was homework.

But life has a way of knocking the glitter off a fantasy.

Somewhere between the heartbreaks, the disappointments, the “Is this all there is,” and the mornings where I woke up realizing I could breathe fine without a man’s last name… something shifted.

The girl who once swooned over diamonds grew into a woman who hears that old script and says,

“Bull.”

Not bitter.

Not broken.

Just done with the illusion.

“Turns out, I did not need a ring to define me.

I needed a backbone, a voice, and a life that was mine.

Not angry.

Not wounded.

Just free.

Because the truth is, I did not need a ring to save me.

I needed myself.”

“The Woman Who Walked Away Shining”

The world I grew up in treated a diamond like a destiny.

Girls were supposed to swoon, practice their married names, and wait for some boy to kneel like he was delivering salvation.

And I did it I bought the dream, polished it, wore it like a badge.

But life has a way of teaching you what sparkle cannot hide.

Somewhere between the heartbreaks and the mornings I woke up breathing on my own, I learned the truth:

that ring was not magic.

It was marketing.

A shiny little spell meant to keep girls dreaming small.

Now when I hear the old stories about “the perfect proposal,” I just laugh and say,

“Bull.”

created by

Vicki Lawana Trusselli

Trusselli Art

Outstages Cafe Art Studio

copyright 2026