Miss Understood
Sep 16, 2025
Yesterday was one of those days where the only thing holding me together was coffee and the promise of bedtime.
Everything was wrong.
Appointment? Cancelled.
Meeting? Got nowhere.
School pickup? Late.
A couple of important tasks? Splat.
And yet somehow… here I am. Still standing.
A few years ago, a day like this would have felt like the end of the world. Like proof that no one gets me. That I’m too much, not enough, out of step. Misunderstood.
But last night, it just meant I made the executive decision to get into PJs at 8pm, with Doritos (the green ones) and Winkies (the red ones), and write this email before crawling into bed and listening to 100 different cello covers of the same song.
Because today is another day.
And it’s probably going to feel a little better.
I’ll hope I'll do a little better.
There’s a shift I've been learning to make, from feeling chronically misunderstood to crowning myself Miss Understood.
Miss Understood is the part in all of us that gets it. (Even if you're a dude.)
The part that knows mistakes don’t define you.
Who trusts that shame doesn’t get the last word.
The one believing that one messy day doesn’t cancel the mission.
That’s what Vessel is about.
Learning to hold yourself through the days when everything goes sideways. Finding that place inside that says, I understand myself, even if no one else does.
Because when you get that… everything changes.
Vessel is about meeting all our parts with love.
The polished ones, sure.
But also the Messy.
And especially the Miss Understood.
Because when you can meet every part of yourself without shame, the whole world starts to feel a little less heavy... and that's where the light comes in (see what I did there?)*
The sash and tiara types might dream of world peace.
Miss Understood? We're all about the inner peace.
Vessel is where it's at - early registration closes tomorrow night.
Use code VESSEL120 before the discount disappears.
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There's a pun war already happening on the Vessel women's chat. Something about sourdough and stretch marks originating in Gan Eden. I don't pretend to have any of this in hand. What I am is grateful: after years of feeling like a misfit, I’ve finally found myself in the company of a whole tribe of people who proudly own their inner Miss Fit.
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