Summary of “My Perfect Pictures and the Pain Behind Them”

“You’re a naughty girl,” he writes and says over the phone, his voice hissing like oil heated in a pan.
“You deserve to be punished. I can see you better than others can. You think you’re ‘Little Miss Perfect.’ The smile. The body. Perfect grades, too. Well, you need to make me happy then.”
Perhaps you see a lovely, young girl; I see a woman exposed, drowning in the slipstream of her husband’s shadow.
I’ve taken the world’s whippings for being born a girl as reason to believe I deserve only punishment and degradation, inflicted on myself, accepted toward myself.
Leave him, the coffin we call a home, the life of smallness I know as mine.
Initially, the news of my leaving acting and modeling to become a writer was met with resistance ranging from disbelief, worry, outrage, scorn, to laughter, from nearly every friend and relative, each unsolicited opinion preceded with the phrase we women know so well: “I love you, but”.
If all young girls and women committed such treason, patriarchy would collapse.
In addition to being a writer, I’m now a public speaker – in tonight’s performance I’ll be speaking purely as myself.

The orginal article.