My Stories Aren't Safe.
They're a Damage Report.
I’m not here to make you feel warm and fuzzy. I’m here to make you wake the hell up. I’m Jill DuBois Wyatt—a mother of five, a survivor of traumas that don't fit neatly into a bio, and an author who writes what others won't even whisper.
My voice is raw and unfiltered—part grief, part rage, and all truth.
I know what it feels like to be erased, and I’m not here to make you comfortable.
The Unmaking
People ask how you become a "voice that won't stay quiet." The answer isn't pretty.
My story wasn't a gentle unfolding, but an assault on the senses with the paint-stripper burning smell of cheap whiskey clinging to my father's breath.
It was a symphony of violence—the clash of the plastic kitchen phone and my mother’s skull, the echoing crack of impact, and the resounding thud of defeat.
It was shaped by the silence that fell over the house after he died in a tragic work accident, leaving me with unresolved guilt just weeks after I turned six.
It was seeded in the years I watched my mother, a badass single mom, her hands showing me that women aren't helpless—you can fix your own damn shit.
You Don't Just Fall in Love; You Fall Into a Trap.
It takes root when you’re married by 20 to a man nine years older, only to realize seven years later that you weren't chosen; you were groomed.
Pregnancy Losses, Twin Losses and the Silent Grief No One Talks About
It was redefined in the sterile, fluorescent quiet of an exam room, where the gel was cold on my belly and silence hung heavy as I lost my twin boys, and then two more sets after that.
My grief was a private, suffocating thing—a weight I told myself to be grateful to carry, because I still had other children.
Then came the infidelity—the husband who blamed my mourning for his betrayals.
Surviving Narcissistic Abuse and Psychosis - A Mother's Journey from Terror to Triumph
My resilience was pushed to its limits during nights spent confronting his psychosis, grip on reality slipping into terror.
The man I once trusted turned manic, his actions threatening the very fabric of our family’s safety. The depths of his illness revealed the devastating impact of untreated mental disorders, testing our bonds and reshaping our understanding of survival and strength within the family.
Finding Light After Suicide Loss: A Daughter's Journey Through Trauma and Healing
It was hardened in the chaos of flashing lights and the haunting scene in my parents' home, where my father's suicide left an indelible mark. The officer’s detached gesture of handing over a cleanup crew’s card reminded me that the world moves on, even when your own has stopped.
The Breaking Point Isn't One Moment. It's a Demolition.
The demolition is realizing the deepest betrayal came from inside my own home. After all that, politeness is a luxury I can't afford.
Silence is a poison.
A Voice Born In Flames of Hell
My journey wasn't a choice; it was a necessity. It was sharpened by every trauma and betrayal—personal and institutional. I don’t write to inspire. I write because the stories had to be told. Storytelling, when it’s done right, isn’t therapy—it’s transformation. And sometimes, the only way to reclaim your voice is to use it louder than they ever expected you to.
Empowering Voices
For everyone done being silenced.
My work is for every woman who’s done being a silent casualty.
It’s for the caregivers, the survivors, the system-challengers—
the mom barely holding it together,
the student juggling work, home, and a GPA that never lets up,
the wife who feels like she’s never enough,
and the daughter still learning how to speak after years of being silenced.
Through unfiltered memoirs, psychological-trauma thrillers, and no-BS healing blueprints, I hand the power back to those who were told to sit down and shut up.
I write because it’s the only way to make the truth louder than the lies.
I write for every woman tired of whispering while walking on eggshells.
It’s about breaking silence. It’s time to get loud.