From Vessel to Visionary: Reclaiming My Space

For thirty-four years, I lived a life where I was treated like a vessel.

A vessel is something that exists only to be filled with someone else’s needs, someone else’s schedule, and someone else’s drama. When you are a vessel, you don’t have a voice; you just carry the weight of whatever is poured into you. For a long time, I let that be my reality. I was the one who absorbed the silence, the “wimpish” excuses, and the attempts to diminish my worth.

I want to make this very clear:  This post isn’t about the betrayal of the affairs. Those were just the cracks in the vessel. This is about the three-year journey of waking up that followed. It’s about the reality I discovered once the secrets stopped being louder than my own intuition. Even now, past the turbulence of that three-year nightmare, the noise hasn’t stopped. These aren’t just shadows following me from the past; they are current events and words happening today. But I am no longer in that circle and truthfully, I never was. 

The Weight I Carried

Of course, I am not perfect. I carried a lot of pain and hurt deep inside me. I don’t know how to say this, perhaps they are correct that I am somewhat mentally “not there”… or maybe it is because of my upbringing, if that is what you would call it. Perhaps it is instilled in me because I do not know the difference from love or hate, fact or fake, or lies and trust. All I know is my deep gut feeling – something that got me to survive my entire life.

I know who I am deep down inside. I am not a liar. I am an honest person. I try to live by the 10 Commandments. I try to do good for all, including those that treated me so badly my entire life. I don’t take life for granted. On the other hand, I do not trust people. I love animals so much that I feel more for how they look into my eyes with pure love than people that I thought I knew, who can look directly in my eyes with lies, deceit, and secrets.

My memory only goes back five years, and looking back at 34 years of marriage, I can’t find a single genuine moment to keep. It seems like a tragedy, but perhaps it’s actually a mercy – my mind’s way of clearing the slate so I can finally start fresh. They spent these last 3 years claiming “we always fought” to justify his choices, he only admitted recently that it was never true. But a late confession doesn’t change the past. It just confirms the truth I’ve finally realized: I lived a lie for 34 years, and now I am finally living in the light.

I spent 13 years surviving childhood abuse and 34 years surviving a marriage of lies. The math is simple, but the weight is heavy: In nearly 50 years, I never felt safe. Childhood was physical torture; marriage was emotional betrayal. Both were counterfeit versions of love. The only thing real in my entire timeline was navigating the wreckage with my twin sister.
If they are reading this entry, I can guarantee they are laughing and saying, “OMG… she deserved every bit of this… LOL listen to her”… All I have to say is: And? Your laughter doesn’t rewrite the truth, and it certainly doesn’t rebuild the vessel.

Going back in time when I thought things were “real”, I found a man I believed was the one. I loved him so much that I would do anything for him, even as the rage and the control became patterns – patterns that are, looking back, identical to what has happened the last five years. It was a total of thirty-seven years of a counterfeit life. Someone who only wanted to “fix me,” and a foundation built on lies, secrets, and deceit that I never truly knew until 2023 (but in reality, it actually started with the end of us in 2021). I sit here now and realize why I cannot remember much of either. I was a survivor, simply holding my head above water for thirty-seven years in a reality that wasn’t even real. Does that make any sense?  If we had technology back then like we do now, I would have NEVER been in this situation. I know too much now. I went through so much. I did not deserve any of it no matter what those two people say.

The “Bad Mother” Narrative

I was made out to be a “bad mother.” I heard him say to our daughter (only weeks after the discovery), “What a colossal waste of my fking time with her.” She laughed and agreed. Imagine your father saying that about your mother to you… I even heard her say, “That is MY fking mother, when will you wake up,” in low, hateful tones to her father. These are words no daughter should ever use toward her mother.

Yet, not once did she ever give me a reason why I was “bad” for loving and caring for her. Instead, she uses him as a partner for gossip sessions about how “insane” I am… the mother, the wife. One would think he would have put a quick stop to it, no matter how he felt about me, but he enjoyed the laughing and encouraged it.

Sometimes I wonder: If he had stood up for me to his “Flying Monkeys,” would things have changed? Was it simply a lack of action versus empty words, or was this person I never knew – this cruelty – deeply rooted within him the entire time?

The laughing, the cutdowns, the putdowns… that was a typical day. It went on for years, even before she helped him hide his affair. I gave everything to both of them. I did too much. I was giving everything to people who were busy deciding I was nothing. He had – and still has – many Flying Monkeys to serve his needs. If only those monkeys knew that they are being used, too!

The Turning Point

But here is the thing about vessels: if you keep pouring in pressure and trying to hollow them out, eventually, they don’t just sit there. They break, or better yet, they transform.

The shift became undeniable on March 18th. That was the day a judge looked at the words that I drafted with my own hands and made them the law. Suddenly, the “vessel” was holding the pen. I realized that I wasn’t just a passenger in this ride; I was the architect of my new life. I stopped believing in the version of reality they tried to sell me. I now see a fortress I built myself. So much for a 3rd grade level…. Right?

He still has his “Flying Monkeys” and they will never change, that is just who they are, but things have changed for me now. For three years, I was blamed for his choices, and now his victimhood is being played in full force! Those Flying Monkeys have no idea they are only pawns in his game. Since they are probably reading this… Yes, I still own that house and yes, I was given the same, exact rights to my home like he has. Such low games people play... SMH

Painting the Neon Green

Right now, I am working on a painting of an egret. It’s in that “ugly” phase where I’m thinning the neck, refining the silhouette, and adding a vibrant, electric neon green to the beak. It’s a lot like my life. I am stripping away the excess – the years of being told I was a “bad mother” or “insane” – to find the elegant, sharp, and resilient shape underneath. The neon green is my voice. It’s the part that stands out against the glittery black background of the past. It’s the part that says, “I am here, I am an artist, and I am in control.”

The New View

I’m currently in the “hunting phase” for something different for my life. I do not shy away from those that talk about me like I don’t even belong driving down my own street or going to my own home! I am no longer carrying anyone else’s weight. I am the artist. I am the homeowner. I am a Dog Mom who loves her dog unconditionally!  I am the woman that sees a completely different view of something that I finally took my blinders away from my eyes and OH WOW… I see so clearly now! And most importantly, I am no longer the vessel. I am the one deciding exactly who gets to step into my light.

The Final Breakthrough

It just hit me: If these last three years of nightmare had never happened, I would still be living that lie. This is my “OMG” moment. I would have never known what was going on behind my back—or should I say, right in front of my eyes. Because of technology, I know too much now, and that knowledge is exactly what set me free.

If you are in a situation that you know in your gut is unstable or built on a lie, please do not “wait and see” what happens. Remove yourself until you feel strong enough to break out of that vessel and continue on your own path. You will go through a lot of “what ifs” and you will blame yourself, but trust me, those days will pass. Your eyes will be fully awake, and you will see so much more looking in from the outside than you ever could while being part of the nightmare.

I have accomplished more in these last few years than I did in my entire life before! My art has grown – and is growing – so fast that I can’t even keep up. This is what truly excites me. I finally feel like I belong. I belong in a place where hatred, cruelty, and lies no longer live with me. I am finally home.

Images in this post – AI-created.