For only being in my early twenties, finally getting my boobs done has been a long time coming. This isn’t the normal “I want bigger boobs!” type of beat. In just two months, my Triple Ds will go to Cs, and I am here to say so long to my overwhelming amount of boobage.
I’ve really never known about not having big boobs. It was like one day in second grade my body decided to become that of an eighteen-year-old and make me suffer the insecurities of being more physically mature than every other girl my age. It sucked. My breasts became so large that even shopping at Victoria’s Secret was challenging. From not being able to shop at Justice with your friends when you’re a tween to then not being able to enjoy going to VS with the girls, you are left crying in Khols’, shopping for an “old-lady” brazier.
Having larger breasts is practically a rite of passage in my family. My aunts, grandmothers, cousins, basically everyone except for my mom (I envy her) was graced (yes, that is sarcasm) with watermelons on our chests. I developed early and was not in the greatest shape as a kid. Fast forward to now, and I am in the greatest shape of my life, minus my terrible posture from carrying around ten pounds of breast tissue. Despite all the weight I’ve lost, not one ounce has been magically lifted from my good ol’ boobs. My band size has definitely gotten smaller, but there is no noticeable difference in the cup area, hence my breast reduction/lift in a couple of months.
Being 4’11 and having massive boobs is not the ideal look. My breasts take up so much space, seeing my ribcage is almost impossible. The straps from my bras have made permanent indentations into my shoulders, I have ruthless neck pain 24/7, and finding clothes to be confident in is one of the greatest hassles of my life. Another pleasure of being graced with larger breasts (sarcasm, again) is constant staring. I mean, everyone stares at boobs, no matter the size. But when you have abnormally large breasts, it’s like everyone’s eyes are glued to them. Yu become the laughing stock, the girl with big boobs, the girl who looks 20 pounds heavier than she is, the girl who has to do everything and anything to cover up because people think she’s trying to get attention. Having big boobs becomes who you are because many people, in my experience, cannot literally and figuratively look past that.
My breasts become a topic of conversation in almost every friendly interaction I have. From girls saying, “I wish I had your boobs,” to guys saying, “Your tits are huge,” to the back pain I’m experiencing, my breasts have become something I just can’t escape. It starts to make you wonder if you’re worth anything without them. Will I still get attention from guys? Will I be as sexy without them? Maybe I’m just overexaggerating how much of a hassle they really are.
This is the problem. For me, having larger breasts has been one of the biggest insecurities in my life. They’ve caused me to say no to a lot, and they’ve caused me to oversexualize myself. I don’t go to waterparks because I hate the stares. I often feel the need to wear low-cut tops on nights out because I believe my breasts are the only thing going for me. My breasts and how people respond to them have made it extremely difficult for me to fathom that a guy could find me attractive without them (not that I’m getting rid of them entirely).
My urge to get my breast reduction done was also amplified just within the past six months. Breast cancer runs rampant in my family. Most recently, I had to watch my grandmother fight for her life for years with Stage 4 breast cancer. My grandmother fought hard, but one day she grew tired of fighting and her cancer won out. I was robbed of my grandmother watching me graduate, watching me dance at my wedding, and becoming a great-grandmother. She was the strongest, most loving person I ever knew, so it will be a cold day in hell before I stop fighting to prevent cancer from getting to me. Although I’m not having a mastectomy, and there will still be plenty of tissue for cancer to still live in, this is my first step at fighting back.
People who have never had larger breasts don’t understand the daily physical and mental torment big boobs cause. I had only ever told my closest friends and family that I was having my breasts reduced to a slim few, but I’ve started to understand that there is nothing wrong with altering my body if it is something I want. Sure, the few guys I tell usually don’t understand why I’d want to get rid of something so magnificent, and girls just want me to magically transfer my breasts to them, but I don’t care what they think. My boobs don’t fit my body. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life not knowing how it feels to walk into Victoria’s Secret and have a plethora of choices in bras or what it’s like to buy a shirt that isn’t two sizes bigger than I need just so it covers my boobs, or what it’s like to walk in a room and not have everyone’s gaze go directly to my chest instead of my face (which I spend like an hour doing makeup on, so please can someone appreciate it!).
I am scared. It’s a long surgery, my first surgery. Still, my excitement to experience how weightless I’m going to feel, how I’m going to cry when I go on my first shopping trip after they are done because of how easier things fit, and the surge of confidence I know I’m going to experience, all wins out over my fear.