I was still waiting for the boob fairy to visit me in my sleep and grant my boob dreams. Any boobs other than mine would suffice. Like really all the way into my 30’s I was hoping I would magically wake up with tits someday.
Fine I had breast. If sad deflated sacks of skin that could barely fill an A cup can be called breast. I could blame breastfeeding on the deflation but I always lacked the size and mass.
My entire life I have suffered with poor body image. In my teens I was too thin. In my 20’s I was too fat. And in my 30’s gravity had already taken its toll. Gravity is a bitch.
In the last 5 years I have had 5 miscarriages, 7 pregnancies, a hysterectomy, my gallbladder removed, and a bout with postpartum depression. Not to mention the 3 children I birthed before all of that. My self esteem was not at an all time low, it was non-existent.
Physically I had faired well through all of it. No stretch marks, yes you can hate me. Even though I had gained 20 pounds I managed to gain it mostly in all of the right places. My ass and thighs are bangin! But I became fixated with my breast.
I hated them. To the point that it was irrational. I wouldn’t even remove my shirt to have sex with my husband. I would shield them with a towel if he happened to be in the room after I stepped out of the shower.
I often chided myself for being so shallow. I should love my body and all of its flaws. I needed to be a role model for my daughters. Fuck the media and society with their unrealistic beauty standards! But I did not feel beautiful. I wanted out of the skin I was in. Well I wanted breast, firm large bouncy boobies. The kind you could motorboat!
I have had breast envy my entire life. I was pretty convinced the grass was in fact greener on the other side.
So I bought boobs. And they are fantastic. Now they did not magically fix decades of self loathing. I still groan when I look in the mirror on occasion. They did however make my self esteem sky rocket. Like seriously I love these boobies. Do you want to see them? I will show you. Do you not want to see them? I will still show you. Do you want to touch them? Go ahead. Wait scratch that please ask first.
Did I do it to fit in? Did I cave to the unrealistic standard of beauty? Sure. Absolutely. I have spent my entire life seeing images of what is beautiful and what is not beautiful. It becomes ingrained in our minds. It is nearly impossible to not be influenced by it. When I looked at my naked breast I felt loathing and shame.
I recognize that. I know that. I altered my body because I could not accept it. So I feel animosity for the stigma that is placed on women. It begins at a very young age. But I find myself in a conundrum. I do not regret getting breast implants. I love them. I feel awesome.
The response to breast implants is a mixed bag. Some people love them. Some people hate them. Some people will tell you that you were already beautiful. Others will say they are awesome. I have even heard gross. But never from a dude. Dudes usually fall into the love and awesome categories.
But in the end their opinions don’t matter. Sure we touched on the influence behind the reasoning. But I bought boobs for ME. For ME. They make ME feel better. They made ME feel better. And they can really fill out a top.
Do I want you to like my boobs? Sure. It is like buying a Ferrari. No one hides their Ferrari in the garage. They have that Ferrari out on the open road for the world to see or at least their neighbors. I want to hear shit those are some sweet boobs. Look at those boobies bounce! Again I love the boobs!
So I don’t have the answers on how to make the world a more accepting place. I am not a role model for loving my postpartum body. Maybe I am an example on what not to do. Shit maybe we should just lose the tops so all breast of every shape and size become nothing to look at. Just another pair of titties.