Bodies Unfiltered

By Kat K.

I have always loved telling stories. Whenever something happens in my life that I feel others could connect to, I am eager to spread the word. Making my friends laugh with goofy anecdotes or embarrassing stories has become one of the highlights of my life. However, I have found that sharing stories I am scared will upset or offend people, rather than the stories I am comfortable with, can have a larger impact. 

It was my senior year of college as an English major and I was dreading submitting something to a literary magazine‘s upcoming publication. I could not seem to conjure up an ounce of creativity. Although, I kept in mind that if I didn’t write something for it I would be mad at myself in the future. I kept looking at the world around me for inspiration and wrote several short stories that will now forever be unread and unfinished in my Google Drive. Nothing I wrote was great and my stories did not connect with any kind of audience or even my personal writing style. I nearly scrapped every idea I had and succumbed to the idea that I might not be published this year.

After several long days of working part-time and doing homework, I found myself stuck in a loop of thinking about the past. I could not stop thinking about horrible things I had gone through that created anxiety and inspired a lack of confidence in me. I had already journaled enough about it to fill a novel that would probably just read as nonsense to others. Although, one thing I had never done was write my horrific experience as a story for others to read. So I did. I spent weeks re-living, writing, and editing a short story that depicted one of the biggest challenges I have ever faced.

The day before submissions closed I stared at my screen as my fingers shook, avoiding the mouse to click “submit” for as long as possible. I thought about what scared me, was it a fear of being disliked? A fear of people looking at me differently? A fear of sharing this vulnerable story and absolutely no one connecting to it or liking it? Probably all of the above. I pressed submit and closed my laptop quickly enough that it could have shattered the screen. Luckily, it was Friday and I had the entire weekend to not think about whether that was a great or terrible decision. 

As spring blossomed and graduation approached, I tried to forget about my submission every day that I didn’t hear from the magazine. Until one day I got an email from them and read the word, “Congratulations!” My jaw dropped as I read that they wanted to publish my story in their spring publication. The validation I felt in that moment was unwavering. Being published meant that my story would be heard, felt, and understood by others rather than just sitting stagnant as my trauma. My vulnerability not only helped me heal, it was now going to help others heal too. 

I started this website/blog because I want others to feel validated in their stories and connect over the hurt we have all been through rather than ignoring or suppressing it. In this way we can normalize common experiences for all genders, learn about new perspectives while simultaneously cultivating empathy. Now, I am not saying that sharing a story of your traumatic experiences will immediately, or ever, completely heal you of it. However, I will argue that taking a risk, being vulnerable and sharing a story that has haunted your own mind, might make you feel less alone.