If you know me, it’s likely that you’ve encountered my nude photographs. Friends, family, and even my partner have seen them. The first person I chose to share these images with was my mother. While my husband appreciates them, he doesn’t quite share the same enthusiasm that I do. Unlike what one might expect from a scandalous leak or an upset ex, the images are carefully showcased in a coffee table book that occupies a prominent spot in our living room.
“Maybe you should store those away,” one relative suggested. But I can’t bring myself to do that; the significance of these pictures is too profound for me to hide them away.