Overcoming Shame: A Cancer Survivor’s Openness about Nudism and Body Acceptance

In 2012, I came out to the world as a nudist on social media, proudly extolling the virtues of clothes-free living. While most bloggers remain anonymous, never using their real names or posting nude photos of themselves, I always make it a point to practice what I preach, believing we cannot hide who we are while fighting for a world without body shame.

Of course, not every nudist shares my beliefs. Many people frequent clothing-optional venues for the fun of it, never thinking twice about societal taboos. For others, visiting a nude beach is something to mark off their bucket list. Something to be shared with a spouse or other like-minded individual. These people don’t care to change the world and might even find the thought of raising a nudist family repulsive. They enjoy clothes-free activities while rejecting the naturist/nudist label.

As for me, nudism is a way of life. I wake up naked, eat naked, play video games naked, and watch TV naked—basically, the clothes stay in the drawer if I can go without. I’ve hated the touch of fabric since I was twelve years old, and when my parents left the house, I wasted no time stripping down to my skin. I eventually came out to the world, telling family, friends, and coworkers, but they never understood the lifestyle, and it certainly didn’t help that my generation, if the TV of the 80s and 90s is any indication, treated naked people like lunatics and sexual deviants, which is why I do not dismiss “lifestyle nudists,” like myself, who are afraid they will be ostracized at work or home for expressing their views. I am fortunate, at least, to have a supportive wife and family, and as a full-time author, I am encouraged to push boundaries and challenge the status quo.

All that being said, I still struggle with doubt, still dread the thought of relatives, friends, and neighbors stumbling across this blog. While I hate having to lie when people ask me where I went for the weekend or having to second guess what I share on Facebook, I am guilty of removing links to my nudist content, deleting risque videos of myself, and marking my more revealing posts—the ones with my naked selfies in them —‘private.’ Being and Nakedness was created after removing my naturist articles from my literary blog.

This back-and-forth, tug-of-war has torn me up internally. There are months when I couldn’t feel more confident about who I am. Other times, I just want to delete this whole damn thing. A lot of this conflict, I realize, stems from a lack of community. Yesterday, I spent a day with my wife at Lake Como. Everyone we met there was in the buff, from the kid in the pool playing ball with her mom to the grandmother whose son became a doctor and moved to Thailand to the guy mowing his grass. These are my people, I told my wife. This is where I feel at home. In a place like Como or Cypress Cove, it’s easy to see how normal living without clothing can be.

Now, here’s the dramatic turn that’s changed my outlook on life. Last month, I was diagnosed with leukemia, and for a few tense weeks, I agonized over my limited time on this planet. I spent a month in the hospital, getting treated for cancer, and chemotherapy, if you didn’t already know, is like a poison, slowly killing all the joy you feel for life. Food became unbearable, I barely possessed the strength to walk to the bathroom, and spending time at Lake Como or Cypress Cove was unthinkable. I suffered from exhaustive chills, and I had to bury myself in pajamas, bedsheets, and comforters to keep from shivering.

Learning to accept myself has been a lifelong struggle, yet here I was, stuck in a hospital bed, forty-nine years old, fretting over other people’s opinions. Something had to change, and my brush with death was the thing to do it, to help me realize how brief life truly is, cliche as that sounds, and how truly absurd it is to waste the few decades we are given afraid to express ourselves.

Today, I am happy to say that my cancer is in remission, and I am feeling 90% like my old self again. I did lose my hair, including my pubic hair, so I am feeling more exposed than ever, but shaving down below is fairly popular nowadays, and I am fast becoming accustomed to this ultra-naked state of being.

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I doubt I will ever feel comfortable walking my dog around the neighborhood as God intended. If the human body is ever legalized, I won’t live to see it, even if I make it to eighty. But our culture is rapidly changing. Who could have imagined, decades ago, YouTubers Nick and Lins, who travel the world looking for places to get their kit off? Or video games like Baldur’s Gate that give you a choice of genitals? Like it or not, “sex work” is now a thing, OnlyFans is fast becoming a valid career choice, and half the country doesn’t care whether the ex-president paid for a dalliance with a pornstar. In every area of life, we are becoming more accepting of people’s differences, whether they’re conservative, Muslim, or LGBTQ+, and as an author who is passionate about what he believes, I feel obliged to move the needle toward openness and honesty, and yet I cannot hope to inspire others while struggling with my own shame.

So that’s it. No more hiding. Since returning from the hospital, I’ve re-linked this blog to my main site, The Writer’s Disease, I’ve restored my videos, and I’ve made my private articles public again. I’ll never hide my naked self again, and that’s a promise.