Photo by Erica Reade

I’m seven years old, bouncing on my heels in my polka dot bathing suit, waiting for my mom to finish getting dressed so we can go to the beach. Impatiently, I open her bedroom door to see her just as she’s about to pull up the top of her one-piece. Her lopsided chest stares back at me. One breast hangs down, and next to it the skin is taut and blank. My mind flashes to the Greek mythology book I got from the library, and its colorful illustrations of the terrifying cyclops. I had spent a year delightedly poking the pad my mom kept in her bra to cover up her mastectomy scar, but this is the first time I’ve seen her naked chest since she faced the knife. She clutches her bathing suit to her body. I turn my back quickly, not understanding the bloom of shame creeping up from my stomach.

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That feeling of shame shaped me. It’s the force that has always told women to keep our bodies covered, our hands folded, our legs closed, our voices silent. It is a pillar that empowers patriarchy. As a playwright, I investigate shame, in order to imagine a world without it.

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I received my MFA in Playwriting from Columbia University, and my BFA in Drama from NYU Tisch. My plays have been developed in NYC and regionally with Roundabout Theatre Company,  Urban Stages, Hartford Stage, American Stage, Williamstown Theatre Festival, New Light, The Tank, and more.

In addition to writing I'm also a dramaturg, writing instructor, performer, and newly converted fan of cats.

I'm currently reading Moon Witch Spider King by

Marlon James.