Chapter 1. where to start…

Divorced, Damaged, and Dangerous:

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Welcome to My Wreckage.

I’m MissT. Survivor. Fighter. Mother. Woman. I’ve clawed my way through four marriages, too many lies, too little love, and the kind of heartbreak they don’t write fairytales about. I’ve been burned, bruised, broken—and still, I rise.

This isn’t a pity party. This is my reckoning. My stories are raw. My truth is unapologetic. And my scars? They’re my power.

If you’ve ever felt like you were too much, not enough, or nowhere near the version of yourself you dreamed of becoming—pull up a chair. You’re in good company.

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I’ve lived a life they love to whisper about. Four marriages. A string of heartbreaks. Trauma that started before I could spell the word. A body and soul marked by experience—and every scar that doesn’t show. I’ve been the girl who stayed too long, the woman who walked away too late, the mother who kept going when no one showed her how.

I’ve been betrayed, silenced, and blamed. I’ve been called promiscuous, broken, too much—and not enough. I’ve cleaned up everyone else’s messes, while no one noticed mine. I’ve laughed through the shame, smiled through the pain, and turned survival into a habit.

But I’m done hiding. This space is mine. Not for pity. Not for approval. But for truth.

This blog is my reckoning. A home for every woman who’s ever been called damaged—and every soul who knows that danger often comes wrapped in power.

This is real life

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This Is Not a Love Story

They said I was too much. Too emotional. Too loud. Too broken.

They didn’t know I was surviving. Dragging myself through the fire with nothing but grit and mascara. I’ve walked out of four marriages—not because I gave up, but because I finally started choosing me.

I’ve spent decades pouring from an empty cup, hoping someone would notice I was running on fumes. I’ve been the good wife, the fixer, the caretaker. And where did that get me? Used up. Lied to. Blamed.

But I’m done apologising for who I had to become to stay alive. I am not here to make anyone comfortable. I am not here to explain why I didn’t leave sooner or why I still cry sometimes.

I’m here to burn the lies down and rebuild something fierce.

This is not a love story.
This is a resurrection.
And I’m the one lighting the match