How I Chose Which Rings To Melt For My New Power Ring at 54

At 54, I decided to give myself a very specific kind of gift: not a holiday, not a handbag, but a ring made from my own history.
A ring that says: I survived, I’m still loud, and I’m doing this for me.

That decision started with two pieces I wasn’t really wearing anymore:

• my engagement ring,
• and my grandma’s ring.

Both meaningful. Both annoying me for different reasons. Both ready to be reborn.

Why I Chose Those Rings To Melt

1. My engagement ring
The engagement ring had a diamond that kept falling out. Every time I wore it, I was on edge.
I wasn’t admiring the stone – I was checking if it was still there. That’s not romance, that’s stress.

So emotionally, the ring was important. Practically, it had become a liability.
The love story behind it is still real, but the actual ring? It had done its job.

2. My grandma’s ring
The grandma ring was the opposite:

• fake stone,
• but real value in the gold – Italian 18ct, solid and warm.

The stone didn’t matter – it was never about that.
What mattered was the history and the metal. That gold had lived a life, just like me.

So I ended up with this perfect combination:

• one ring with a real diamond but a problematic setting,
• one ring with “fake” sparkle but genuinely beautiful gold.

Together, they held:

• my past,
• my grandmother,
• my marriage,
• and my stubbornness to turn all of that into something new. Also i have the money too do this, unlike when I first got married aged 26.

Why I Chose to Do It in Australia

You don’t just hand over your emotional history to any random jeweller.
This is why all of it is being done in Australia.

My niece lives there. She knows me. She owns Procosmetic Cosmetic clinic, hence she understands we ladies all need an upgrade.
Not “knows my ring size” – knows my personality:

• that I like bling,
• that I’m not subtle,
• that I don’t want a shy little “maybe she’s married” band.

I did it in Australia because I trust her.
She could sit with the jeweller, be my eyes and my attitude in the room, and say:

“No, this has to be louder. She’s not a minimalist.”

For something this personal, trust is everything. If you’re going to melt sentimental pieces, work with:

• a jeweller who has been recommended,
• and someone who actually knows your taste to act as your filter.

The Non-Negotiable: Measure Everything Before They Melt

Before a flame is even turned on, there is a very unromantic but vital step:

👉 Make sure they measure everything.

• The weight of the gold.
• The size and quality of the stones.

Get it written down. Get photos.
You want to know exactly what you are handing over – and what you’re getting back.

This protects you, but it also gives you a real sense of:

“This much of my past is going into this future ring.”

Don’t skip this. Sentiment is beautiful, but clarity is powerful.

How I Chose the New Design

I’ve been looking for a design ring for a long time. Nothing felt right.
I didn’t want delicate. I didn’t want polite.

I wanted:

• bling,
• loud,
• non-traditional,
• a ring that walks into a room before I do.

Ironically, the ring I ended up choosing is similar to my original engagement ring that was stolen.
It’s like my style circled back – but this time, I’m the one commissioning it, not waiting to be surprised.

The final design consists of three different pieces:

• a central ring,
• and two jackets that sit around it.

Those jackets are very challenging to make. They must hug the centre ring perfectly so it looks like one big, powerful piece when worn, yet still work separately if I ever want to play with it.

That’s another reason to work with a skilled jeweller:
multi-piece rings are architecture, not just decoration.

What Finger Did I Choose – And Why?

I chose to wear this ring on my right index finger.

Why? Because this is not a “replacement” for my wedding ring.
It’s not about my husband. It’s not about the past contract.

It’s about me.

The right-hand ring finger has become, for many women, the “self-commitment” finger:

• a promise to yourself,
• a celebration of survival,
• your own symbol of worth that isn’t waiting for anyone’s permission.

I’m 54. I’m healthy, alive, no injuries, still standing after all the drama life has thrown at me.
This ring is a gift to myself, and the right hand is the perfect place to wear that story. Also, my wedding ring can be worn next to it.

How I Chose the Stones

The starting point was obvious:

• the diamond from my engagement ring.

That stone has history. It symbolised the beginning of my marriage, and now it also symbolises something else: I stayed, I fought, I grew.

The fake stone from my grandma’s ring wasn’t going in. Its job is done.
But the gold is very much part of the new piece – that Italian 18ct warmth literally wraps around the diamond’s story.

From there, it became about the kind of sparkle I wanted:

• I didn’t want a single, lonely stone.
• I wanted a statement piece that catches the light from every angle.

So we added extra stones around it – think halos, pavé, shoulders – all designed to:

• make the original diamond the star,
• but surround it with a supporting cast that says, “She’s not here to blend in.”

After having a ring where the diamond kept falling out, security was a big part of the brief.
So I was very clear:

• solid setting,
• no fragile claws that bend every time you breathe,
• a design I can wear confidently without constant checking.

Why It Matters That It’s Three Pieces

The three-piece construction is symbolic for me:

1. The centre ring – my core.
   The woman I am when the noise is gone.
2. The two jackets – the layers I’ve built:
   • experiences,
   • pain,
   • resilience,
   • style.

Some days, I might wear just the centre ring. Other days, I’ll go full armour with all three, like:

“Yes, I am that extra, thank you for noticing.”

If you’re thinking of designing a melted ring, consider whether:

• you want one strong all-in-one ring,
• or something modular that can be dressed up or down.

Tips for Choosing Your Own Melted Ring

If you’re standing in front of your jewellery box thinking, “What do I even do with all of this?” here’s what I’ve learned:

1. Choose pieces that carry both meaning and frustration

Pick rings you:

• love emotionally but don’t wear,
• or can’t wear because of style, size, or setting issues.

That tension is exactly what makes them perfect candidates for reinvention.

2. Separate stone value from emotional value

A fake stone can still carry huge emotional weight.
Real diamonds can be attached to memories you’ve outgrown.

Decide what you’re keeping for the story, and what you’re keeping for the material.

3. Work with people you trust

If possible, involve:

• a family member or friend who truly knows your taste,
• a jeweller with a track record and real references.

You’re not just paying for metalwork; you’re paying for someone to translate your life into design.

4. Get everything measured and documented before melting

Non-negotiable:

• weigh the gold,
• list and measure the stones,
• take photos.

You should know:

“This is exactly what I handed in, and this is exactly what came back.”

5. Be honest about the style you really want

If you want bling, say it.
If you want quiet, say that too.

You’re not designing for Instagram. You’re designing for the woman you are at 3am when you stare at the ceiling and think, “How did I get here?”

6. Think of it as a milestone, not a midlife crisis

At 54, I’m not apologising for wanting a loud, non-traditional ring.
This is not me trying to be 25 again.
This is me saying:

“I’m still here. I’m grateful. And I am allowed to shine.”

A Gift To Myself

When I look at this new ring, I’ll see:

• an engagement that began a long journey,
• a grandmother whose gold is still with me,
• the ring that was stolen, now reborn in spirit,
• my niece in Australia, acting as my stylist and guardian,
• and a 54-year-old woman who chose herself.

Melting old rings is not destruction.
It’s editing.
It’s taking the best parts of your story and giving them a new setting – one that finally fits who you’ve become.

And honestly?
After everything I’ve been through, this ring isn’t just jewellery.

It’s proof that I’m still here, still loud, and still writing my own narrative – in gold and stone.