'I thought I'd found the man I'd marry, until he sent me a strange voice note.'

As told to Ann Degrey.

I met Tom* at a health retreat in Queensland, and from the moment we spoke, I felt like I'd found someone who truly got me. He was calm, grounded and very confident, in that quiet way that seemed to really draw people in.

We talked about meditation, breathwork, letting go of ego — all the things that had been missing from my stressful 9-5 corporate life.

By the end of the weekend, we promised to stay in touch, and we started dating soon after. For a while, it was incredible.

He was thoughtful, always talking about energy, presence and purpose. He loved to talk about "finding your why" and he always made me feel seen, like I was finally stepping into the life I'd always wanted.

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I knew he'd founded a mindfulness and wellness community a few years earlier. I loved that about him. I was already into yoga and journaling, and the idea of helping others live more consciously really appealed to me.

Meanwhile, I was miserable at work. Corporate marketing had drained me. I hated the long meetings, the way I felt like I was just there to make rich people even richer. Tom used to joke that I was too "awake" for that kind of job, and deep down, I knew he was right.

Tom offered me a position in his community as an assistant manager. "Come be part of something real," he said. It felt like a sign, so I started working the next week.

At first, I was excited. The property was beautiful, with a big open hall where people gathered for meditation and movement classes. It felt very peaceful and purposeful. I felt Tom was in love with me, referring to me as his "divine partner."

But not long after I started, I began noticing things that didn't quite sit right.

For one, all the employees were young women; most were between 18 and 25. They were all slim, conventionally attractive and eager to please. They were called "energy guides" or "living mentors," and were responsible for everything from running yoga classes to preparing meals and welcoming new visitors.

When I asked Tom about the lack of diversity, he brushed it off. "They're just more open to the work," he said. That didn't feel like a good enough answer.

Phones were discouraged, even during breaks. Visitors were asked not to post anything online. When I tried to formalise some of the admin processes, he brushed me off, saying it would "kill the vibe."

Then there was the way the women interacted with him. They giggled around him constantly, hung off his words like everything he said was sacred. At first, I assumed they just looked up to him, but over time, I started noticing more.

He'd touch their arms or their hair when he talked to them. Or hug them longer than necessary. Sometimes, I'd find them alone in the gardens or in his office with the door closed.

I told myself that Tom loved me, and I needed to trust that. I didn't want to be the jealous girlfriend in a so-called "conscious" community. But I couldn't shake the feeling.

Everything shifted when one of the girls, a 19-year-old, pulled me aside for a chat.

"I think you should know, Tom says the same things to all of us. About how special we are. How we're his 'divine partners.' You're not the only one."

She also told me that, while things were never outright forced, there was pressure — emotional, spiritual, and sometimes physical. She'd been "chosen" by Tom for a "higher connection" and didn't feel like she could say no.

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When she cried in one of the morning circles, Tom said it was just her ego resisting growth.

I left the next day, telling Tom I needed space. He didn't even chase after me — he just sent me a long voice note about how I was letting fear block my path.

I reported what I knew to the police, but because the women weren't underage and everything was technically "consensual," nothing came of it. They said there was no legal case.

I felt helpless. The 19-year-old left soon after too, and I've heard from a few others since then; some too scared to talk, others still convinced he's enlightened.

Looking back, I see how clever it all was. He wrapped manipulation in spiritual language. He used words like "alignment" and "awakening" to blur the lines between intimacy and control.

What hurts most is that I believed in what we were building.

I thought I was part of something healing, something good.

I still believe in mindfulness, in healing, in the power of community — but I've learned to ask harder questions. And to trust my gut, even when someone's speaking beautiful words about love and light.

*Names have been changed to protect identities.

Feature Image: Getty.