Awe, they were lovely.
Most of my childhood I had wanted some. It seemed that growing up everyone had some except for me. I was a scrawny, skinny, pick of a kid who, most of the time, was mistaken for being a boy. I hated how I looked, how my body betrayed me by being flat.
I recall the beginning of my obsession with wanting a bra started around the age of 10 but my mother didn’t think I needed one. And clearly I didn’t need one, but I needed one. It was a matter of self-esteem that was lacking in my personality much more than my chest lacked breasts.
As I grew, my breasts refused to make an appearance. Meanwhile I watched as both my sisters’ forms become curvy and womanly.
What was wrong with me that God had decided I was unworthy?
I don’t know what age I started fantasizing about when I would be old enough to get a boob job, I just know by the time that date came around I didn’t know how the hell I was going to afford one.
In 1990 Victoria’s Secret stores began popping up in malls and I happened to work in a store next to one. The windows were adorned with beautiful frilly bras and inside were eager saleswomen who could fit you perfectly. In my excitement to look feminine I approached a saleswoman who sent me to the fitting room to be measured. I remember the shame of how awful and insensitive the sales representative was when she half laughed at me and in a condescending voice stated, “Honey, we don’t do bras your size.”
It wasn’t until I turned 32 and put on some weight that suddenly they appeared out of nowhere! And what luck, because my boobs had been small for most of my adult life, the sudden growth spurt God had finally decided to bless me with, were perky as hell and I could easily go out without a bra.
I wasted no time showing the girls off every chance I got. I began filling my closet with every stinking thing that would give me the best naturally, God given cleavage the USA had ever seen!
Like most things, I guess they were just too good to be true. My boob was suddenly trying to kill me and it was time to say goodbye.
But how to process the loss of a good thing? How do you say goodbye when you finally were happy with your body? It turns out all you need is a camera, a good sense of humor, and you too will be okay. Here are the things I did that helped me say goodbye to the girls:
Write a “Boobituary”
I know this sounds so silly but I wrote a long “Boobituary” saying thanks for the good times. I truly believe this tongue-in-cheek project got a laugh out of my friends and family, but it seriously helped me process that my body wasn’t going to be the same again.
Sounds so ridiculous that I never really wore those frilly bras I once had so longed for….but a few days before my surgery I went into a panic at the thought that I had a few things in my closet that I had never gotten around to wearing. Ugh…..suddenly the opportunity was going to pass! Oh GOD, the beautiful lace was screaming my name!!!!!
So I put every single thing on. I took a picture of my boobs in every single bra I owned. Every bra I had never been bothered to wear, became apparent as the time went by that there was a reason for that….they aren’t comfortable, nor what I had so hoped they would be. Good times, but time to go.
Get Naked Outdoors
Ta-Ta to the Ta-Ta
I know of many woman who have had “boob-voyage” parties and it has helped them immensely…..
Whatever the process, life goes on, and so will you…