I vividly remember standing in a dressing room with my mom, trying on my first bra. I hated it; I SOBBED in front of the mirror. I thought I looked stupid, it felt weird… unfortunately, I had skipped right over the “training” part of the bra process and was fully into an adult size. My breasts never needed any training. I was in the fifth grade, and my mom had noticed my need for something to keep me in place. After that fateful trip, which ended in tears and probably some kind of argument with my mom, I would come downstairs for school in the morning and my mom would do a bra check; feel under my shirt to make sure I had it on, because any chance I got I would try and sneak past her radar and not wear it. I eventually grew used to it, of course, and even sometimes liked my boobs. I was proud of my figure for like five minutes sometime when I was fifteen or sixteen. Another memory I have is of standing in yet another fitting room with my best friend, streeeeetching a metallic silver shirt (what? It was the 90’s and it said “Princess” across the chest) down over me. My friend laughed hysterically, tears running down her face, because the shirt covered like half of a breast. I didn’t buy the shirt.
In high school I was known as “The Girl with the Big Tits”. Honestly. Once I came across a boy I was going to a homecoming dance with in the hallway, and he was making these *motions* with his hands, scooping out the air and shaping…into my boobs. He did NOT get to see them, or make any scooping motions anywhere close to them, just to let you know.
On one hand my breasts were a huge (no pun intended) part of my identity. I didn’t know who I WAS without them, you know? But I also longed for a conversation I could have when someone actually looked me in the eye, or to run a short distance without giving myself a black eye. I had to put a washrag under my bra because the skin got so irritated under there. So one day, I decided to chop the fuckers off.
Then I changed my mind.
I got all the way to the doctor’s office, had the exam, was told I was an excellent candidate for breast reduction surgery, and I just couldn’t do it. I didn’t know who I WAS without my breasts. They had always been a part of me, literally. Would people look at me the same? Well, no, they wouldn’t, because they would be looking at my face as opposed to my chest. I guess I just wasn’t ready to give it up.
Cut to a couple years later. My boobs seemed to only be getting bigger, and I started having skin reactions out the wazoo. My back hurt all the time, my neck had a permanent knot in it, I felt like I couldn’t even walk without pain. I was ready, this time I was ready.
And I did it. And you guys, I would have three hundred C sections before I would have that surgery again. It hurt so fucking bad. They took six pounds from each breast and then stitched me back together. I developed a pocket of fluid and had to go back to the doctor to get it “expressed”, which is a fancy term for squeeze the everlasting shit out of it and have junk come out your nipples. I bent three fingernails back while he was expressing, and I was expressing with some colorful language of my own. The first time I took the bandages off, I burst into tears. “I look like a ten year old boy!” I wailed to my friend and my mom. I was battered and bruised, and missing a part of myself.
But I think it was worth it. I got used to the way I looked, and started enjoying buying cute bras for myself. It made it easier to move, and my back pain reduced dramatically. I was no longer the Girl with the Big Tits, and that was okay by me!!
Now I have come to love and respect my boobs. They are the perfect size for me, the scars are barely noticeable from the surgery. I’m glad I had the courage to do it, though I don’t know if I would (could) again. I’ve heard some stories about people having to have the surgery more than once and I hope that doesn’t happen to me. I’m sure some people have great experiences with the surgery, this is just mine. And now you all know way more about my boobs than you ever wanted to know, you’re welcome!