Intro
Welcome to Divorced, Damaged and Dangerous
By MissT
This is not your typical blog.
This is the raw, unfiltered story of a woman who’s been through the fire — divorce, heartbreak, chronic illness, shattered trust, and soul-deep hurt — and lived to tell the tale.
They called me damaged.
They thought divorce would destroy me.
They assumed I’d stay silent.
But I’m still here. And I’m not just surviving — I’m dangerous now. Because I’ve found my voice.
I’m a mother of four incredible kids and a grandmother to a little soul who reminds me daily that love still grows in broken places. I’ve carried pain in my body, scars on my heart, and secrets no one ever asked about. Until now.
This space is for anyone who’s ever been underestimated, broken, or left behind. For those who cry in silence, smile through pain, and still keep going. You’re not alone here.
Expect honesty. Expect vulnerability. Expect rage, healing, humour, and maybe a few f-bombs. This isn’t about perfection — it’s about being real.
Stick around.
It might just get interesting.
With truth (and a little fire),
MissT
Divorced, Damaged, and Dangerous
By MissT
They thought I’d stay quiet. They thought I’d break.
But I don’t shatter—I sharpen.
This blog is for the ones who’ve been burned and branded. The ones who were told they were too much while being given nothing. The ones who rebuilt themselves from rubble and rage.
About the book
I’ve been gaslit, ghosted, and gutted. I’ve cried in silence, screamed into pillows, and smiled through hell. But I’m done playing small to make anyone else comfortable.
I’m not here to inspire—I’m here to unleash.
To speak the truths no one wants to hear, and say the things you’ve been choking on.
This isn’t about healing pretty—it’s about surviving messy and rising mean.
If you’ve ever been underestimated, unloved, or unheard—this space is yours too.
You’re not broken. You’re dangerous.
And you’re exactly where you need to be.
EDIT…
This site was once called Divorced, Damaged and Dangerous.
It began as a place to put down what I was carrying.
It’s now called Tell the Devil I’m Driving.
I write about leaving, staying, love, fatigue, motherhood, and the quiet work of choosing yourself without burning the house down.
Some posts are from earlier years. They remain here as record, not instruction.
This is not a healing manual.
It’s a witness statement.
I’m not interested in being palatable.
I am interested in being honest.
MissT
