My Double Life – A Confession

By day, I’m an administrative assistant at a logistics firm. Nothing flashy. I sit in a gray cubicle, surrounded by plants I’ve half-named, answering emails and scheduling meetings like clockwork. My coworkers know me as quiet, efficient, maybe even a little boring. They don’t ask many questions, and I don’t give many answers. That’s how I like it. Or at least, that’s what I used to tell myself.

But I live a secret life. At night, I become Vela — a name I picked randomly off a star map — a name now whispered in online art forums, praised in digital galleries, and requested by collectors who have no idea who I really am.

It started as a way to cope.

I had always loved painting. As a child, I would draw on every available surface — napkins, textbooks, even the walls once, much to my mother’s dismay. I had dreams of attending art school, living in a messy loft, creating all day. But life had other plans. My parents urged me toward “something practical,” and I, too scared to fight for my passion, followed the safe route. A business degree. A stable job. A life I could depend on — even if it didn’t inspire me.

Then came the night everything changed.

After one particularly soul-numbing workday, I dusted off an old sketchpad and painted until sunrise. For the first time in years, I felt alive. I took a photo of that painting and posted it anonymously online under the name Vela, expecting nothing.

To my shock, people loved it. Comments flooded in. “This speaks to me,” one person wrote. “I need this energy in my space,” said another. I was stunned. And hooked.

Within weeks, I had created a separate identity. I launched an anonymous Instagram, a website, and even began selling prints. The money wasn’t just good — it was better than my day job. But beyond that, the attention, the appreciation, the validation — it felt like finally being seen after years of being invisible.

But it came at a cost.

I started lying — to my coworkers, to my friends, to my family. “I’m taking online classes,” I told one. “I’m volunteering,” I told another. In truth, I was painting all night and sleeping only a few hours. I missed dinners, calls, birthdays. I even skipped my brother’s engagement party because I had a live Q&A session with an international gallery.

At first, the double life thrilled me. The secrecy, the rush — it was like starring in my own little movie. But over time, the weight of hiding started to crush me. I’d stare at my coworkers laughing in the breakroom and wonder what they’d think if they knew. Would they respect me more? Would they think I was arrogant for keeping it secret?

Sometimes, I imagined confessing. Telling my boss I was quitting to pursue art full-time. Telling my mom that her quiet daughter was actually making waves in the art world. But fear always stopped me. What if it all went away? What if Vela was a fluke?

So, I continued the act.

But deep down, I’m exhausted. Every morning, I wear a mask. Every night, I take it off and become myself again. It’s a strange way to live — being two people at once. Some days I forget which version is real.

Still, when I open a blank canvas and the colors start to flow, everything else fades. I lose myself in it. In those moments, I’m not Claire the assistant. I’m Vela — powerful, expressive, real.

Maybe one day I’ll merge both lives. Maybe I’ll let people in. Maybe I’ll be brave enough to live as just one person.

But until then, the world will keep knowing only half of me.

And the other half will keep painting in the quiet hours of the night, waiting for the day it no longer has to hide.