Misha Jones

Hi, my name is Misha Jones. I’m the author of It’s About Damn Time, a raw, real-life memoir about surviving betrayal, trauma, and being silenced.

For 15 years, I carried pain that never got to heal — not because I couldn’t move on, but because the people who caused the damage kept reopening the wounds. While they went on with their lives, I was expected to stay quiet and “get over it.” My story isn’t about playing victim — it’s about what it looks like to fight for your sanity when the world gaslights your grief.

I’d love the chance to share a piece of my story with your audience. I know they’ll feel it — because so many are living it too.

Thank you for the work you do,
Misha Jones
📧 wyldchyyld77@gmail.com

I’d also like to share the preface of my book with you as well. I believe there are a lot of people who share the same type of pain that can definitely relate to my story:

This book is dedicated to the lowlifes across the planet.

Yes, I said it—lowlifes.
But before you jump to conclusions about what you think I mean, pump your brakes.
Take a second.
Understand what I’m really saying before your assumptions get louder than the truth.

Lowlifes aren’t thugs. They’re not bums. They’re not the scum of the earth.
Lowlifes are people like me—the ones the world overlooks, steps on, lies about, and silences.
The ones whose real stories get erased by cowards with louder voices and prettier masks.
The ones who’ve had to swallow pain and stay quiet—just to survive, just to get by.

A lowlife isn’t someone who “ain’t about nothing.”
A lowlife is someone the world treats like they ain’t about nothing—
so the liars, the backstabbers, and the manipulators can keep playing victim and getting away with it.

Lowlifes are the ones who’ve been betrayed by people they trusted most,
then expected to shut up and “get over it,” like they never even mattered.

They’re the ones with voices drowned out by the very people who hurt them.
Mentioned only in gossip, forgotten when it counts, and forced to carry shit they didn’t deserve.
People who’ve had to eat their truth, bury their pain, and fight daily for the same damn respect
that everyone else gets handed without question.

So yeah—I’m repping for the lowlifes.
And if that word makes you uncomfortable, ask yourself why.
Because this book?
This one’s for us.

The overlooked.
The silenced.
The tired.
The rising.
The lowlifes—like me.