Stories

Tell Us a Story About Your RESILIENCE!

Everyone’s got a comeback story, a heartbreak you survived, a risk taken, a morning you showed up when quitting looked cozy. We want yours! Here’s your chance to get published too. Who know where this can lead?

Some stories start with heartbreak and end with falling in love. Some start with finally getting back to the gym and then benching personal best weight. Maybe you hated your job and then found yourself travelling to a bucket-list location where you understood your next step in life.

Maybe there was no intimacy in your life for a long time, and then hooking up the world’s greatest lover that you fell in love with, and they with you? Maybe your story is you stopping pretending you’re fine. We want real moments from real people across Canada: stories of falling apart, laughing through it, and quietly rebuilding – showing their resilience.

We’re not grading grammar; we’re celebrating your grit!

Write it your way (up to 500 words)

Boundaries

a.) Eligibility: Open to anyone who hasn’t had a perfect life. This isn’t a contest.

b.) Dates: Submissions begin November 1, 2025 and continue until January 31, 2026.

c.) Selection: Stories will be judged on authenticity, impact, and inspiration.

d.) We’ll send you a discount code if your story is simply acceptable. This is not a contest. We want to get to know you.

e.) We’re not prudes. We don’t mind a sensual or sexy story. Just make it meaningful please, with some kind of lesson you learned.

f.) We will never publish your surname or email address. Feel free to use a made-up name.

g.) We will never forward your name or email address to anyone ever.

Tell Us Your Story

The Fine Print

Publishing Rights

By submitting your story, you give Café Depresso permission to share it on our website and social media. We will never post your full legal name or email address, and any photo will be shared only with your permission.

Editing & Use of Stories

By entering, you agree that Café Depresso may lightly edit your story for clarity, length, or tone while preserving its original meaning. Stories may appear (with first name only or anonymously) on our website, social channels, or future campaigns celebrating resilience and the Society of the Unbroken.

PUBLISHED STORIES

“I was done being the girl who played small.”

- Elaine, Toronto

Ever been so low that you said to yourself, nah, I don’t feel like washing or eating today or caring what I look like? That was me. A bad breakup, a Covid layoff, and a vanishing sense of direction all collided until I slipped into a long, low-grade depression. I became a skinny, sexless, weak chick with an Eeyore-like cloud following me everywhere...

My Marina Life - Cold plunges and coffee

- Ryan, Parry Sound

City guys may find peace in meditation. Up here, we jump into Georgian Bay and let the shock do the talking. I’ve worked at the marina in Parry Sound most of my life, guiding fishing trips and fixing boats…

Laughter Brought Me Back

- Kira, Vancouver

Two years without sex changes you. Not in the way people joke about, it’s quieter than that. You stop feeling like a woman being seen and start feeling like an observer of your own life. Desire turns into theory. You forget what it’s like to be looked at and actually want to meet that gaze…

Learning to Feel Again

- Leah, Hamilton

I signed up for a dance class because I was tired of feeling numb. I hadn’t touched anyone outside a handshake in months. The first few classes were awkward, my feet heavy, my mind louder than the music. But over time it felt different. The rhythm got into me…

Learning to Trust Touch Again

- Alicia, Ajax

After a breakup that left me cautious of everyone, even a hug felt risky. I told myself I was fine being on my own, safer that way, quieter too. Then I met someone at a friend’s barbecue in Ajax who didn’t fill silence with noise. He talked easy, laughed with his eyes, and when we said goodbye, he didn’t ask for my number, just said maybe he’d see me around...

The Taste of Enough

- Nia, Hamilton

There were years when money was tight. Rent or groceries, bus fare or laundry. I worked at a small market in Hamilton and sometimes brought home bruised fruit the owner would toss. I’d make soup out of scraps, light a candle, and call it dinner. Somehow, that made it feel like living, not surviving...