The relationship between me and my boobs has been a rocky one. When I was twelve years old and had these giant C cup breasts that attracted endless weirdos, some of them sexually assaulting me, I grew resent towards my poor breasts. Actually, I hated them. I believed if I didn’t have them, then men would leave me be, and I wouldn’t have had these traumatic experiences. I blamed my boobs for it all.
In my twenties, my boobs fell. I don’t know if it was because I had such large ones so early, and it was a natural dance with gravity; but, I was very upset and angry. I felt betrayed by my own breasts. I thought I had finally found value in them as I was modeling and just became an exotic dancer. I needed my boobs! They let me down again. After overhearing a man call them ‘pancake tits’, I decided on plastic surgery.
The first surgery didn’t go well. The surgeon went through the arm pit and under the muscle wall. The implants never dropped down and I had these two hard lumps high on my chest. I had to wait a year before they could be fixed. The second surgery was a success, and while they were going in anyway, I decided on going a bit larger. Double D’s.
Sadly, I viewed my boobs, along with the rest of my body as a commodity. My business assets. The self care I practiced was an investment and unfortunately empty of self love.
In my thirties, was probably the only time I really loved and appreciated my boobs, when I breast fed. What a miracle I was equipped with these beautiful tools that nurtured my baby.
After time, and breastfeeding my boobs have dropped into a very natural looking state. However, I have been retired from dancing and modeling for over ten years, and lugging this weight on my chest is a chore that can’t be good for my back. I have been thinking that eventually I will need a reduction.
When I began learning to listen to my body a few years ago, I thought of my poor boobs and how I have never appreciated them and I began sending them love and thanking them for valuable life lessons. I was grateful my resent had never turned into sickness and cancer.
A few months ago, during my mammogram, some tiny calcifications were found in my right breast. They tried to remove them during a regular biopsy but were unable to reach them. They are high up and behind the muscle wall. Last week I had surgery. Everything went well and I am recouping pretty good. I was a little traumatized when I changed the bandage and saw the size of the scar. I was expecting the smaller one from my first biopsy, but, this one is bigger, about two inches. My poor breast all bruised. I sat and cried.
My heart goes out to the many women who wake up with no breast. How many warriors have a real battle with breast cancer.
Today I have a follow up appointment. They will tell me if the lumps were cancer. I have been assured that even if so, because we caught it so early, it will be not only treatable, but curable. I am deeply grateful.
I wonder if other women have relationships with their breasts like I have had. Disappointment, anger or resent, and how our own emotions develop sickness within us.
I pray all women learn to love their boobs. That men will appreciate and respect them. That society will stop objectifying and sexualizing them. That we can all heal our own self hate and therefore the illness that develops from the negativity we inflict on our poor bodies.