
Contribution Guidelines
Metamorphosis is a book-in-progress made of drawings and stories — rooted in bodies, scars, survival, and what it means to be seen. If you’re here, thank you. Your voice matters deeply.
To help shape the work with clarity and intention, here are a few simple guidelines:
🕊 1. This project is for people who have undergone mastectomy, reconstruction, hysterectomy, and/or oophorectomy.
Whether your surgeries were preventative or part of cancer treatment, partial or complete, this space was created with you in mind. You are welcome here — in all stages of healing, with or without visible scars.
🖋 2. You can contribute images, words, or both.
Some people share photos of their bodies or scars and ask to be drawn. Others submit written reflections inspired by the cues below. You can choose one or both.
🎯 3. This project is drawing-led. If you’re submitting images, here’s what to keep in mind.
These will be figure drawings, so unclothed reference photos are essential.
Natural light is best. No makeup, no highly styled or posed glamour shots.
Please ensure that you are in focus and that the background is very simple.
Your face is optional — what matters is how the image feels: honest, quiet, real.
These drawings are black and white — color reference isn’t necessary.
If you're contributing writing, feel free to respond to one or more of the cues below. 1 — 3 paragraphs is ideal. Be as specific and emotionally true as you can — no need to be polished or poetic.
some visual cues to guide you (coming soon)
angles and compositions that resonate with the look and feel of the book.
some cues to guide your reflections
pick what speaks to you and write 1-3 paragraphs.
How it Felt
What’s the very first thing you remember feeling in your body after waking up from surgery — temperature, pressure, pain, anything?
What part of your body felt unfamiliar the longest, and how did you slowly start to claim it again?
How did your skin respond to fabric — under a blanket, under your shirt, under your bra?
What sensation completely surprised you — something weird, sharp, tender, or even missing?
What became your go-to resting position — and how did you discover it?
When did your relationship to physical comfort or pleasure shift — and what became your new version of ease?
What was your go-to soothing thing — a snack, a show, a scent, a song — that made your nervous system go thank you?
What is the most beautiful thing your body has taught you?
When did you first speak kindly to your body again?
What does your scar remind you of — not just what you lost, but what you gained?
who i became
When did you first feel like yourself again — or like a new version of yourself?
What part of your personality got louder during recovery — and how did that help (or challenge) you?
What song best captures a mood of your recovery — or where you are now?
What’s the weirdest thing you Googled at 2 a.m. during recovery?
What post-op habit or strange little routine do you miss?
What part of your lineage rose up in you while you were healing?
What did you once believe about your body that had to be unlearned?
What did this experience teach you about softness — yours or someone else’s?
Has your tolerance for bullshit increased or decreased since surgery?
What’s your new party trick — emotional or otherwise?
What truth did your pain make impossible to ignore?
How has your relationship to silence changed?
How long did it take before you were truly bored of your own healing process?
What is the most ridiculous thing someone said to you while you were recovering — and how did you keep from committing a crime
how life changed
What’s one thing that completely surprised you during recovery — emotional, physical, or relational?
What’s something you no longer tolerate — in your body, your relationships, or your daily life?
What relationship quietly shifted — someone who showed up in a surprising way, or someone who faded out?
What do you think about right before you fall asleep — and has that changed since surgery?
What’s your “you would not believe this” story from recovery — the one you tell like an origin myth?
When did the story you were telling yourself fall apart — and what rose up in its place?
What kind of softness feels like strength to you now?
What did you lose that you didn’t need?
Who lifted you when you couldn’t lift yourself?
What part of you did you rediscover through suffering?
What do you now find completely unrelatable in other people?
If you share images, you’ll be contacted directly before any drawings are made or included in the book. Nothing will be published without your clear consent.