Books, essays, and other attempts to make sense of identity, unexpected change, complicated systems, and the general weirdness of being human.
Some pieces begin with lived experience. Others begin with a question, a contradiction, or an explanation that does not quite hold up under closer inspection. All of them are written with curiosity, candor, and a healthy suspicion of textbook conclusions.
Writing
Off My Chest
Off My Chest began as an attempt to document what cancer did to my body, my plans, and my sense of who I was. It became something broader: an honest account of treatment, recurrence, reconstruction, and the awkward work of rebuilding a life that no longer matched the original blueprint.
The book looks beyond the medical timeline to the expectations surrounding illness—the pressure to be brave, grateful, transformed, and preferably inspirational. With dry humor and an allergy to platitudes, I write about what was lost, what remained, and how a person stays fully human when everyone around her is focused on keeping her alive.
Creating the cover art made the project feel even more personal. The image was built by hand, just as the book was: one imperfect layer at a time.
More than 200 copies donated to area cancer centers and oncology spaces.
COMING SOON
Still in Cancerland
More than two decades after Barbara Ehrenreich exposed the cheerful machinery of breast-cancer culture, Cancerland has evolved—but it has not disappeared.
Still in Cancerland examines the pink consumer universe, the business of survivorship, and the narrow image of the patient that fundraising campaigns have taught the public to recognize. It asks who gets represented, celebrated, and supported—and who remains outside the frame when a complicated disease is packaged into something marketable, inspirational, and easy to consume.