500 Words Project (2024)

12/03/2024

Hello readers! We are currently accepting submissions.

Do you have a story about kindness? Do you have an experience that reminded you of the beauty or meaning of life?

We'd love to hear from you! Email us at [email protected] for more information 🖤

12/03/2024

"I can’t remember exactly when my Dad was first diagnosed with organ failure. What I do remember, however, is that it took me a while to process how serious it actually was.

Luckily my dad, though an introverted man by nature, does have good humor to him. Speaking of his humor, my dad loves to send very random texts and photos out of the blue.

One particular day, he texted me to ask if I could add zippers to the left sleeves of some of his sweatshirts. He explained he was always very cold during his dialysis treatments at the hospital, but wasn't allowed to wear a jacket due to the nature of the procedure.

I am a fashion designer and a seamstress, but this was the first time I had ever been asked to do something like this before. Nonetheless, I told him I would give it a shot!

Soon, my dad mailed me his jacket since we live a couple hours away from each other. When I finished working on it, he drove all the way to my house to come get it.

When he first put his new jacket on, I remember him being all smiles and saying how cool it was. In fact, he was so thrilled about his new jacket that he even forgot the old one he came with at my place. He also made me make six more!

Little did I know, my dad wouldn’t be the only one having that same happy feeling. Not long after, I very cheekily posted about them on Twitter not knowing what was about to happen next.

Like I said earlier, I didn't quite understand how serious his diagnosis was at the time, until many people online began sharing stories with me about their loved ones who were also going through the same thing. I was so touched by everyone’s words that I decided to create a tutorial on YouTube and share my knowledge.

Today, my Dad is still in good spirits and currently trying to get on the list for a kidney transplant. We have faith that eventually the day will come and he will get a donor match.

In the meantime, I am honored to have been able to share my knowledge freely with others around the world so that they can pass it on to their loved ones.

Many people have shared their opinions about me doing this for free, but in an unkind world, I think it's brave to show unwavering kindness to others even if many people don’t agree."

Mina F.
California
427 Words

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Thank you to Mina Fox for submitting your sweet story and photos for publishing.

04/01/2024

"He always pushes the grocery cart. And when we get back to the truck, he unlocks the doors immediately so I can I sit in the truck with the seat warmers on while he unloads the groceries. Rain or shine, every time, this is our grocery game plan.

Can I let you all in on a little secret? It’s taken me many years to appreciate being loved like this.

You see, I spent (aka wasted) a lot of time looking for all the ways in which love is shown in the movies, magazines, and commercials.

Flowers.
Chocolates.
Romantic meals.
Surprise getaways.

And guess what? I was disappointed time and time and time again. All because I was looking for the ways I was being told my partner should show his love instead of paying attention to how he actually does.

When I came to this realization, it was a relationship game changer.

For he rarely buys flowers, but he calls me every day when he gets off of work to see if I need anything picked up.

He never thinks of buying chocolate, but whenever he sees anything that resembles a slice of plant-based organic goodness, he always buys it for me. And he is always so proud to surprise me with his latest grocery store find.

He can only boil eggs and butter bread, so while I have never walked into a dining room with candles flickering and plates of gourmet goodness laid out, he wakes up every Sunday morning to get the coffee going, washes and pours up my favorite mug, and passes it to me while I’m cozied up on the living room couch.

And while he cannot put together a travel itinerary to save his soul, he has sat in a Broadway theater with me to watch a musical. He has walked through Ernest Hemingway’s home with me. He has been through more museums and libraries in a lifetime than he cares to admit. And he has never complained about any of it. Not even once.

And it’s more than that. So much more than that.

If his restaurant order is better than mine, he’ll always switch plates. He watches Sleepless In Seattle when he would rather be watching Jason Bourne. He knows my most favorite ‘lady products' and will run to the pharmacy to grab me them whenever needed.
..And, he will always, always push the grocery cart.

You know, the more I think of it, the flowers, the chocolates, the romantic meals, and the surprise getaways? That’s all just momentary anyway.

The flowers die. The chocolate and meals get devoured. And the surprise getaways happen, and then they’re over. But it’s in the moments that you can depend on (over and over and over again), well, that’s where the love is found.

Don’t search for the flowers and chocolates, ladies. Search for the one who will push your grocery cart. For that’s where the always kinda’ love is."

Heather D.
Canada
494 Words

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Thank you Love Always, Heather for sharing your beautiful story for publishing

20/12/2023

Disclaimer: DV

"I met my partner Brian by chance at work back in 2016. We were moved into the same classroom at the school we worked at, and pretty soon afterwards I caught myself thinking about him on a daily basis.

After weeks of daydreaming about him, we finally exchanged phone numbers.

I didn’t think a man would be interested in a single mother with three young children, so I immediately told Brian I had a 4-year-old son and twin 2-year-old daughters. I also let him know I was a survivor of domestic violence.

I warned I was knee deep in my healing journey and what that could possibly look like. That my abuser was very mentally, physically, and verbally abusive and I had the scars to show for it, including a stab wound on my left hand.

Brian told me all of that didn’t matter and he wanted to continue to get to know me.

From the beginning of our relationship, Brian and I were inseparable; the energy we had was undeniable and unmatched.

After months of dating in private, I finally let Brian meet my kids and the rest was history. The kids thought he was the best and I couldn’t agree more.

We got married two years later in March of 2018. Following the wedding, in January of 2019, Brian legally adopted the kids and since then we have been living an absolute fairytale.

Recently, I made the decision to find a local tattoo artist to transform my left hand that constantly reminded me so much of the hurt and trauma I've endured.

After being stabbed, my abuser would always tell me, ‘No one’s going to want to marry you now with that ugly hand.’ I had to go through 5 different surgeries before it was fully functioning again.

For many years I looked down at my hand and the word 'disgusting' would always come to mind.

The artist was able to tattoo Brian’s handwriting under the scar on my 'ugly hand' with the words 'I love you baby.' Something I thought I would never find...real genuine love from the most amazing man.

The picture of my hand right after my tattoo was done is my favorite. It shows the worst pain can turn into something beautiful."

Tiffany D.
Illinois
378 Words

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Thank you to Tiffany for submitting your incredible story. Professional photography credits go to Dancing In the Rain Photography with Melissa.

02/12/2023

"I had many problems to solve when I was little, so it's no surprise I ended up becoming an engineer.

At 6 years old, I lost my mother to cancer. I grew up with a single parent and after my mom's passing, we went homeless for years.

I lived in a shelter composed of a small room shared with another family, a shared bathroom with mildew in the shower, no heater, and a bunk bed with plastic mattresses and no sheets.

In fifth grade, I was mapping out bus routes for the metro because we couldn't afford a car and walking along miles and miles of train tracks to get groceries.

We relied on volunteers at the nearby soup kitchen for our meals, and I often wondered when, if ever, we’d make it out.

But despite the series of unfortunate events, there was a glimmer of light after the twelve-year stint with homelessness.

At 18, I awoke one morning to my grandma shouting with a phone in hand. A producer from the Today Show was on the line and told me to turn on the television. To my astonishment, my face was plastered on the screen with text below it that read 'Homeless Valedictorian Goes Viral.'

So, how did someone like me, who had the odds stacked against them, not only graduate at the top of their class but even graduate and make it out in the first place?

The first motive for me was love.

Only three people in my life witnessed my humiliating journey inside homeless shelters, and that was my dad, my brother, and myself.

No one will ever see through our eyes, or feel the shortness of breath from feeling so anxious about what the next day would bring.

Our relationships weren't rainbows and unicorns, but we made a pact to never give up on one another. The risk of losing them meant everything.

My second motive was proving to myself I could always be better than I was yesterday.

Being competitive with myself rather than another person built an awareness centered around the value of learning, working hard at something, and being a respectful human being.

I wasn’t God’s gift to Earth by any means (after all, I grew up watching South Park and listening to the Ying Yang Twins), but the important thing was that I wasn’t fighting people; I was fighting myself.

I was eager to experience the effect of the positive choices I was making. That feeling of doing something good was my fuel.

Today, I'm a 27-year-old self-published author and professional engineer. But most importantly, I’m not finished. There is still so much to do, so much to say, and so much to be heard.

If there’s anything I want people to take away from my story, it's that you can use your hardships as motivation for writing your own narrative.

I had a million reasons to give up, but I chose not to.

The world is truly your canvas."

Griffin F.
Florida
499 Words

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Thank you to Griffin Furlong for submitting your incredible story and photos for publishing.

11/10/2023

"I was an alcoholic and an addict before I took my first drink.

Long before any consciousness-changing chemicals entered my body, I was always looking for an external solution to my internal problems.

I was diagnosed with Asperger’s Syndrome at the age of three. Looking back, I always felt crippled by an onslaught of sensory overload.

The smallest sights, sounds, and social interactions completely overwhelmed my senses, rendering me incapable of coping with everyday life. As a result, I always tried to escape, and I sought things out that took me outside of my body and mind.

In the years leading up to my first encounter with mind-altering substances, I became addicted to praise, validation, video games, and collectible toys, such as Pokémon cards and Beanie Babies.

Those things might not have been addictive drugs, but they still gave me a 'hit' of external satisfaction.

When I got drunk for the first time, I experienced a destructive epiphany: I didn’t have to face my fears or deal with my underlying mental health issues directly. Moreover, I could artificially overstep them by imbibing a poisonous, euphoric chemical. Sadly, it came at a steep price.

As a result of my decision to pursue a life of mollifying chemical oblivion, I abandoned all of my previous passions in pursuit of my next drink. It started out with fairly suburban consequences.

I would show up to school hung over and get a bad grade on a test, or show up high to a piano recital and give a poor performance. Eventually, the consequences escalated.

I crashed my car into several other cars under the influence of alcohol. My addiction progressed from alcohol and cannabis to co***ne, benzodiazepines, prescription opioids, and eventually he**in, crack, and fentanyl.

Still, I thought my use of drugs was justified – even with the abscesses from intravenous injections, seizures, and complete desperation. I thought that the drugs were the only thing that made it possible for me to cope with life, but they were really what was killing me.

On June 13, 2016, after hitting rock bottom, I decided to go to rehab for myself. It wasn’t my first time, but this time, I didn’t go to escape any consequences. I didn’t go to temporarily get my parents or my friends off my back. I did it because the 'solution' I thought I had found through chemical escapism didn’t work anymore, and I needed to find another one.

I found my new solution in recovery, and my life is more beautiful than I ever imagined in active addiction. I have a job, house, girlfriend, son, and another baby on the way. I have the trust of my family back, and I have reignited my passion for writing and music.

More than any of that, I have made peace with my sensory overload, and I use it to power my sober self-actualization instead of my destruction.

One day at a time, we do recover – and you can too."

Benjamin L.
Vermont
496 Words

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Thank you to Benjamin for submitting your story and photos for publishing.

22/08/2023

"Sometimes it's easy to get swept up in the mundane—dishes, laundry, grocery shopping, cleaning the house, paying the bills. Rinse and repeat. Day in and day out.

Sometimes we find ourselves getting wrapped up in the more intense moments of life too.

Will my child get into any of his preferred colleges?
How will we pay for all the things we need to pay for this school year?
Will my child be happy at his new high school?
Will my partner and I ever find time to connect with each other again?

Every one of us could list a whole bunch of worries and tasks that are weighing us down right now, because the reality is that life is sometimes just plain hard.

And so we find ourselves just kind of dragging along, one day to the next, holding out hope for something big on the horizon.

Maybe it's a birthday, time off, seeing a friend, traveling, or celebrating a holiday that serves as our beacon of light. The thing that keeps us moving forward. We tell ourselves to keep holding on until we make it to that next big bright spot on the horizon.

But last Wednesday night, my youngest son reminded me that we don't always need the big things to look forward to. Sometimes, we can celebrate the nothing.

He said, 'Mom, I really feel like having cake right now. I wish we had a reason to celebrate so we could get a nice cake.'

I'd love to tell you that I was fancy and baked him a cake from scratch, but I didn't. I'm not fancy. I did, however, order a cake from the supermarket bakery, had them write 'Happy Thursday' on it, and surprised him with it after dinner on Thursday.

Believe me, seeing your almost 12-year-old smile unexpectedly with his big ear-to-ear grin with both dimples activated can light up the darkest of rooms.

Suddenly, all the weight lifted from my shoulders for those few moments and all that mattered was us all being together, sharing in the simple little celebration of nothing.

In that moment, I realized that not only is it okay to celebrate the little things—the moments that seem insignificant, the moments that so easily pass us by every day, the nothings—sometimes we NEED to celebrate them.

There doesn't have to be a reason to make (or buy) a fancy cake or a nice meal or decorate your house for a party. We don’t need to wait for something big enough to be able to share in celebration with others.

The truth is that being able to be alive each day is reason enough for celebrating.

Maybe right now is a good time to ask yourself what small thing you can celebrate today. You might be surprised at how such a small thing can make such a huge difference.

And just how much we could all use a little celebrating right now."

Jenni B.
Massachusetts
491 words

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Thank you Changing Perspectives with Jenni Brennan so much for submitting your story and photos for publishing.

08/08/2023

"I dipped my toes into the online dating pool and I’m not gonna lie, it wasn’t seamless.

I liken it to shopping at TJ Maxx. You must go several times and sort through countless racks before you find the good stuff. Like that perfectly-fitting, velvet minidress from Free People I got for half price.

When Paul’s profile came up, my first thought was, 'He's CUTE!' He was from the Midwest, like me. He'd also filled out details on his profile (a rare sight).

I swiped, he swiped. A few messages later, digits were exchanged and a date was planned.

He was quiet but interesting, polite, and calm and collected. We went on a few dates, and he seemingly didn’t want to move too fast.

Soon, however, we both went on vacation. We didn’t get to see each other for several weeks, and something between us changed.

Hoards of texts and conversations transpired. All the big topics were covered. I knew I wanted to make a real go of it with him, and the feeling was mutual.

My only concern was balancing between my independence and incorporating Paul into my life. As it turns out, I didn’t need to worry.

Paul was ‘THE one’ that everyone always says they're looking for in life. A true dream guy.

We quickly found a way to make it all work. In fact, it worked so well BECAUSE we both wanted to maintain our independence.

And then I was blindsided. God was like, ‘Hey, here’s the guy of your dreams…and a tumor.’

5 months into seeing each other, I was diagnosed with cancer despite no family history and being just about the healthiest person in a 10-mile radius.

I warned Paul things were going to get rough really fast and he could walk away without judgement. He had an out. This wasn’t what he signed up for.

His words verbatim were, 'I’m not going anywhere unless you tell me to.' And he didn’t.

He took off work the day of my biopsy and sat in the lobby for an hour with my mom (who he'd only met once). He made it to every chemo round after putting in a full day at his job so he could tag my mom out.

He left sweet notes of encouragement and love in my chemo bag. The night I had my hair shaved off, I awoke to his hand caressing my head.

He never treated me like I was sick, but I knew if I needed him, he was there. We hunkered down on the hard days, and had date nights and weekends away on the good ones.

He took out the garbage, made dinner, gave my daughter rides. He SHOWED UP. For everything.

He could have taken the out, but damn I’m glad he didn’t.

I'm done with treatment and back to near-perfect health and, plot twist, he’s still here!
He’s still showing up.
He’s still 'THE one.'
And every day is better than the one before."

Cara H.
Arizona
500 words

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Thank you Cara Hedin so much for submitting your story and photos for publishing.

22/07/2023

"Two years ago, Pedro spent the night in the ER on morphine with sudden, unexplained pain in his knee. We would soon find out the pain was a grapefruit-sized tumor called Ewing’s Sarcoma.

Ewing’s Sarcoma is a rare and aggressive bone cancer that primarily affects children, with just 200 cases diagnosed in the U.S. yearly.

Treatment includes 14 cycles of some of the harshest chemotherapy, followed by ‘local control,’ which, in Pedro’s case, meant removing 8 inches of his femur and replacing it with an internal prosthetic extended down into his tibia.

At 8, Pedro is now one year out of treatment and considered NED (No Evidence of Disease). If you ask his parents, we'd say the biggest struggle in this journey is mobility. Pedro can’t run, jump, or ride a bike. He walks with a limp.

If you ask Pedro, he’d say, ‘Who needs to run when you can RACE!’

You see, Pedro has always wanted to be a race car driver. I’ll never forget when he was two years old and not feeling well; rather than saying ‘my tummy hurts’ he'd say ‘my engine hurts.’ He has always seen the world through cars.

Pedro got through surgery and losing his femur with the promise that once he recovered, he’d be able to race.

As soon as Pedro was cleared to get into a Go-Kart, he didn’t hold back. He joined the Colorado State Karting Tour and put his eyes on the prize. He was in it to win it!

There is something special about watching Pedro at the track. He limps his way over to his kart and guides his stiff leg in and onto the pedal, SMILING ear to ear while he does it.

Winning has extra meaning because, to him, it’s proof.
Proof cancer doesn’t own his story.
Proof a limb difference doesn’t define what's possible.
Proof if he can do it, other kids can too.

At school, a child would push Pedro to the floor and kick away his walking aids. I feared what this would do to him. How do you teach a child to overcome obstacles to come out stronger on the other side?

As it turns out, Pedro would teach ME this lesson. Pedro has refused to let his limitations define him.

He looks forward to the day he can stand up on a podium, hold his trophy, and speak a message of hope to other kids with limitations.

Other things don’t matter when you know in your heart what you want to achieve and have a message to spread.

Currently, Pedro is re-learning to walk, planning on competing in a big championship, and working on a pitch for sponsors. For many, this may seem impossible. For Pedro, he already beat the odds once, so he knows anything is possible!

In Pedro’s head, he’s always been a race car driver. Cancer was just a bump in the road."

Laetitia D.
Colorado
486 Words

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Thank you Laetitia so much for submitting Pedro's amazing story and photos for publishing.

07/07/2023

"Ten years ago, I saw a version of my daughter I'd never seen before.

Maddie stepped into dance class and her passion was instantaneous. She wanted more instruction, more stage time, more anything and everything dance!

As her mom, I encouraged her to try new things, but she was soon dancing almost every day.

At 9, Maddie said she wanted to devote herself to a full-time dance team, so I found a studio that aligned with her goals.

Quickly, she went from being her school’s top dancer to an average-at-best dancer. Although humbling, it didn’t slow her down. She immersed herself in new friends and education.

Everything was going according to Maddie's plan...until it wasn’t.

During middle school, dance went from the thing giving her life to the very thing robbing her of living.

She started getting migraines close to competitions and classes, once so bad it prompted an ER visit.

I remember asking, 'What happened? Why the sudden stress?'

She couldn't say. She just said dancing didn’t feel 'good' anymore.

I communicated this to the studio but, being raised with a strong work ethic, quitting mid-season didn't cross my mind.

The conversation was not IF we finish the year, but HOW. I didn't want Maddie to let her team down.

It was an important lesson for her to learn, right?

Weeks marched on and Maddie slipped into a slumber. Rides to dance class were quiet. She'd come out unattached, in tears, or occasionally smiling, a false reassurance.

I attributed it to pr***en moodiness, making excuse after excuse.

Three weeks before her recital, Maddie said she couldn’t take it anymore.

Pressure was high. Her teachers were frustrated. SHE was frustrated with herself. It was imperative she give 100%, but she just couldn’t be who they needed her to be.

Everything suddenly became clear.

I was so focused on Maddie seeing her dance season through I ignored the red flags. I worried about how her teachers and fellow dancers would feel more than Maddie's needs. It was not an easy thing to come to terms with.

Subconsciously, I wanted a tidy end to Maddie the dancer. I wanted to commemorate and say goodbye to this version of my daughter I loved so much.

I saw what I wanted and not what was there. I failed her.

Mental health is easy to overlook or pass off as something else, but a conversation with a friend opened my eyes:

'If dance was a person, would you advise your daughter to stay in a relationship with them?' The answer was simple: no.

It was emotional and messy, but Maddie walked away. In hindsight, she can now articulate that for weeks, maybe months, she was in crisis.

I wish it didn’t take me so long to recognize it.

MENTAL HEALTH MATTERS. More than activities, more than friends, more than ANYTHING.

We need to teach our kids this, even if we are still learning it ourselves. It's not always easy, but our children deserve better."

Adrienne A.
Massachussetts
499 Words

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Thank you Adrienne so much for submitting your important story and photo for publishing.

27/06/2023

CW: postpartum mania

"Crying newborn in my arms, the doctor asked, 'How are you?' I told the truth: 'Amazing.'

I had energy like never before. I could run 5 miles weekly post c-section. I decorated the entire house by myself. I reorganized the playroom, cleaned the fridge, scrubbed the bathroom floor on hands and knees.

He replied, 'How are you sleeping?' Suddenly, I realized I hadn’t. In 9 whole days.

But I didn’t feel tired; I felt elevated. Like I could clean the entire house, organize everyone’s closets, climb a mountain, and still have energy.

'I think you have postpartum mania.' He explained it’s a form of postpartum psychosis we needed to treat aggressively or it would get worse. I scoffed, told him he's nuts.

I fought being put on meds. It would disallow breastfeeding and, up until this point, this was my pride and joy. My superpower. But soon, I was hallucinating. I was suicidal. I was at the absolute lowest point in my life.

It was bad, very bad. I agreed to meds. I tried everything. Still unable to sleep and the impending threat of going inpatient, I swallowed my pride, and heaping doses of heavier pills.

During the formula shortage, I constantly heard, 'Well maybe more mothers should breastfeed.' One day a random mom judged me for feeding Teddy formula. I held back tears.

My limbs tingled. I felt like a zombie most days. I hated that I needed medication.

'How are you? How are you sleeping? Are you breastfeeding?' I despised the questions. I lost 40+ pounds in 3 months from mania and heard, 'Wow, you look great!'

I was told I looked so amazing I was barely recognizable. 'What's your secret?' I looked them right in the eye and said, 'I went completely insane, wanted to unalive myself, and took meds so I can sleep.'

Today, I can’t remember Teddy’s infancy. The memories of bathing Madelyn, rocking Amelia, touching their sweet little faces with my fingertips wondering how I got so lucky…I have none with Teddy.

My daughters have detailed, thoughtful baby books that bring me to tears, but not Teddy. I was absent. I wasn’t there for him like the girls.

The depression was unimaginably terrible. I put all my energy into hiding it from the kids, friends, family. I felt like a horrible mother.

It's been a year now and I don't feel broken anymore. I am calmer. Thoughtful. More present with my kids.

I'm reading more books than I have in years. I journal. I listen to new music. I have a full-time job. I take my meds without a second thought. I haven’t felt this mentally clear in my entire life.

Postpartum struggles are not talked about enough. Looking back I realize I didn't let my children down, my brain let me down, and I should not feel ashamed.

If you know a postpartum mom, check in. If you are struggling, please ask for help. You can get through this. I am living proof."

Tia H.
Massachussetts
500 Words

Follow 500 Words Project for more content like this, and submit your own story at [email protected]

Thank you Tia so much for submitting your important story and photo for publishing.

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