Well, I didn’t go to Harvard Medical School.
I didn’t take a course in “How to Survive Soul-Destroying Betrayal 101.”
And I don’t have a certificate in “Emotional Resilience with Distinction.”
But here's what I do have:
I’ve been a single parent.
I’ve held my child while he was dying of terminal cancer at just seven years old.
I’ve had breast cancer.
I’ve buried my mother.
And just when I thought I’d made it through the worst life could possibly throw at me — plot twist — my husband of nearly two decades dropped a betrayal so explosive it made my trauma résumé go platinum.
I found out he’d been cheating on me for eight years with men. He had lied, gaslit, and left me shattered.
The pain broke me — I don’t say that metaphorically. I had three suicide attempts and a nervous breakdown so loud it had its own postcode. I didn’t just rattle with the pills — I practically qualified as a walking maraca.
But guess what?
I survived.
I swore.
I wrote.
And slowly — so slowly I wanted to punch a clock — I reinvented myself.
So no, I’m not a psychologist.
But I’ve lived things most therapists read about in textbooks. I know what betrayal tastes like. I know what trauma feels like in your bones. And I know that recovery doesn’t come with a welcome party — it sneaks in, late and uninvited, like a miracle in a hoodie.
That’s why I’m qualified to write this book.
Because if you're in a dark place, I’ve been there.
I built a home in the darkness, burned it down, and clawed my way into the light — wearing nothing but sarcasm, trauma, and very tired mascara.
And if I can help one person laugh, feel seen, or throw a cheating ex into the bin of emotional history where they belong?
Then every awful chapter was worth it.