Unquiet. Unbreakable. This Is Your Testimony.

Transparency Time

The link to my book, Tender Hearts, in this post is an Amazon affiliate link. This book is mine—I wrote it while drowning in nursing school and self-published it. As an Amazon Associate, I earn from qualifying purchases.

What that means is simple: if you choose to buy the book through this link, I’ll earn both royalties as the author and a small commission, at no extra cost to you. It's a direct way to support my work and help keep this platform running.

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Let's cut the bullshit.

You're not here for pastel affirmations and "live, laugh, love" bullshit.

You're here because you're running on fumes, rage, and the last dregs of coffee.

You’re here because you’ve been told to be quiet, be grateful, be less, and you’re about to fucking detonate.

Welcome. You’re in the right place.

This Isn’t Inspiration—It’s Insurrection

The work gets done here. Messy. Fueled by coffee. And unapologetically real.

Welcome to the Resistance: A Space Built From Fire

This isn't just a website; it's the damn resistance.

I’m Jill DuBois Wyatt, and this space is where the silence breaks.

It was born in the suffocating quiet of a childhood choked by drunken rage, whispered injustices of being in a toxic, abusive marriage where my reality was constantly questioned and controlled, and closed-door betrayals of stolen worth, isolation, twisted distortion, rigged outcomes, and buried evidence.

The Truth Was Never Safe—And Neither Were We

That’s what it felt like—to exist in a world where the harm was intimate, calculated, and always just out of reach of proof.

I wasn’t just drowning. I was suffocating in a locked room filling with gas, while the people closest to me debated whether I was even worth saving.

The rules kept shifting—written in disappearing ink.

Every time I adapted, they rewrote the script.

Every time I stood, the ground moved.

When Reality Is Rewritten by Those in Power

The reassurances? Just rehearsed lines in a play I never auditioned for.

Truth became negotiable.

My memories were put on trial.

My instincts—labeled irrational.

Silence Isn’t Neutral—It’s Complicity

And the worst wounds didn’t come from enemies.

They came from the ones I called friends.

The ones who watched. Stayed silent. Called it “staying out of it.”

They didn’t deserve my loyalty.

They stood by—eyes wide open—pretending not to see.

And silence?

Silence isn’t neutral.

It’s complicity dressed up in cowardice.

Here, we don't just share stories; we dismantle the ones that tried to dismantle us.

We speak what was never supposed to be spoken.

This Is More Than My Story—It’s a Call to Yours

Out of that fire, I didn’t just find my voice—I found my fucking calling.

To help women reclaim the voice they were forced to swallow—scarred, defiant, and unapologetically loud.

That truth is the foundation for everything I create.

My work isn’t just mine—it belongs to every woman who’s ever been told to shut up and sit pretty.

I write to hand them back their power—their voice to scream, to stand, to rise.

And I don’t hoard it—I share it. Loudly. Viscerally.

So whether you come for the pain or the beauty, you’ll feel every fucking word.

• The Woman’s Healing Blueprint built from the ground up—your personal guide to piecing yourself back together when you’ve been shattered by trauma and burnout.

• The raw honesty of my Tender Hearts: Navigating the Journey of Caring for an Elderly Parent or Grandparent, because no one should have to face the crushing weight of a slow goodbye alone.

• The unvarnished story of Unf'cking The Academic Inferno, exposing the rot in a system designed to break you while taking your money.

• The dark, twisty worlds of thrillers like No Safe Harbor, because sometimes fiction tells the truest stories about the monsters next door and the towns that keep their secrets.

Who This Space Is For

This is the space for the woman who has been told she's "too much."

The mother who has screamed into a pillow in a locked bathroom.

The survivor who is done being silent.

The woman who saw the rot behind the bullshit and fake smiles—and refused to swallow it. The wife who saw the cost of silence—and chose fire instead.

The one who stared down the system and said, “Not f'cking anymore.”

If you've ever felt like your story was a liability, here, it’s your leverage.

Stop Scrolling. Start Rewriting.

You have a choice.

Keep scrolling through the surface-level noise that insults your intelligence, or join the damn conversation that matters. This is your official invitation to stop being polite about your own survival.

Subscribe for Truth. Not Fluff.

Arm yourself with clarity. Get the unfiltered strategies for healing, survival, and rebellion delivered straight to your inbox. No fluff, no spam—just the truth you need to rewrite your own story.

Don’t just scroll. Subscribe.

It’s time to get loud.

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