Let's Talk Boobs

Sarin, 37 years old

Boobs: our turbulent relationship

My boobs have been a part of my life for the last twenty-six years. That puts me at developing around fifth grade or so. A complete and total baby growing these things. My boobs did not come quietly over time, they grew in with a vengeance. I flew over the cute little training bra stage straight into minimizers with thick massive shoulder and back claps. To say that it was overwhelming would be a gross understatement.

The first bra fitting I remember was at a small specialty boutique run by loud, older, Jewish women. I would be in the fitting room as they sized me, made numerous comments about my breast size, physically put me into the bras, ran into the back to get my size as it wasn't on the floor, and spoke to my mom about putting me in minimizers. It didn't seem like I was there at all unless my boobs were being manhandled. The experience wasn't exactly exciting or self esteem boosting at all. I already felt awkward, exposed, and judged. There was no Victoria Secrets for me. They didn't make my size. Now I received multiple messages that I was "too big" and needed to appear as small as possible to the outside to be "normal."

That was the start of hating my breasts. I'd hunch my shoulders inward to try and appear smaller. I would be jealous of all my peers wearing these cute bras and tops that I couldn't wear unless I wanted to look like a hooker. I would endure so many comments about how I needed to do the impossible act of hiding my chunky bra straps. I became the "girl with big boobs" among my classmates and gained unwanted attention. Mean girls would tell me that the boys "only liked me for my boobs." I believed them. They might have been right. That started my feeling that I was liked more for my boobs than who I was on the inside. My boobs were my true value and worth.

Growing up in the nineties the fashion was heroin chic. Being waif-like and flat chested was in style. The more you looked like Kate Moss the better. Boxy shirts, spaghetti straps, baby Ts, and crop tops were in. None of those I could wear. Media and fashion feedback told me my boobs were not in style and I can't wear the cool clothes. I prayed for my boobs to shrink. I so wanted to be the tiny, flat girl. I couldn't help but stare at those girls in school. I wanted to be them. It's kind of funny the nineties are back in style at the same time as large boobs and butts. That's not at all what it was. Nor were clothes made for that kind of body type back then.

I was super into dance and sports growing up. Ballet,  jazz, basketball, and softball specifically. Big boobs and leotards did not mix well. There were not supportive sport bras at that time. Or I didn't know where to look for them. I could not help but feel awkward and embarrassed as I saw my bouncing boobs and hefty duty bra lines when I looked in the mirror in dance class. Running was not comfortable nor did it look great. Somewhere along with the line I learned that doubling up on those typical sport bras worked. That became my go to to alleviate discomfort and more unwanted attention from bouncing around.

Somewhere in high school and college I started owning my boobs. I wore mostly what I wanted to and didn't care so much about the comments people made. I would joke around with my friends about donating my boobs to them as I dreamed of having a breast reduction. I started seeing that I my boobs had a detriment and an advantage. They would attract creepy people and comments as well as people I had crushes on. I would sometimes get inappropriate comments and touches while getting free drinks. I still didn't love my boobs, but they were not enemy number one anymore. They served a function for me at times.

When I became pregnant having boobs was a whole other animal. I got bigger. A lot bigger. Bigger than I ever thought I would be. I was utterly shocked seeing the letters F, G, and H. On cue the multiple comments on my boobs started all over again. My posture and back took a major hit. My stomach took forever to catch up to my boobs. Getting clothes for my changing body felt impossible. I prayed that my boobs would shrink after pregnancy like some women's do. They didn't. I hung out around F and G longer than I thought ever wanted to.

Nursing became a very healing experience. My boobs served a function for my babies I love so much. I could feed them from my body. While there were some painful bumps in the road, I had great support from friends and a lactation consultant. While I was so happy and grateful to nurse, I was still ashamed and uncomfortable to nurse in public or in front of other people. When I returned to work pumping became my life. I probably spent more time pumping and thinking about pumping than working if I am being honest. My boobs called the show. I was on the clock and every few hours I was somewhere pumping. I've pumped in nursing rooms, offices, bathrooms, bedrooms, hotel rooms, airplanes, cars, and even a boat. It was crazy. Weaning was an emotional experience, however, I grew much more appreciative of my boobs.

When the kids got older I was starting to seriously consider my breast reduction. My posture was awful and my neck and shoulder pain became almost unbearable. Massages and the chiropractor became my best friends. I researched doctors and polled the online mom groups. No one I spoke with regretted their reduction. I got doctor letters and called the insurance. I was clear to move forward with minimal financial pressure. About two and a half years ago I took the leap and got my reduction. I could finally wear the cute bras and clothes. I even could go bra-less! My scars are minimal and the pain is gone. My posture still is a work in progress and my nipple sensation is significantly less. Overall I am beyond thrilled to have finally gotten the reduction I dreamed of.

So, boobs. I'm finally feeling so much more comfortable in my skin. I have a lot less pain and can wear things I never could before. I'm content. I no longer resemble a porn star when dressing up. I can shop at non specialty bra stores and pay much less for bras. The bigger the bra, the more it costs. It's wild. I feel grateful for what my boobs were able to achieve and acknowledge the pain of the past. It's a turbulent relationship and it's mine.