Friday, August 21, 2009

Hatin' on the girls

I feel the need to get this out there - although, quite honestly, I'm not sure whether anyone else really wants to know about this. But here it is - the ugly truth: I hate my breasts.

I really do.

You may be asking - What about self-love? What about all the functions they're supposed to serve? What about, you know, exulting in the female body, blah blah blah?

And to that, I say - you are not living with them.

I'm sure that, in many peoples' opinions, it's not that bad. I mean, I can see my feet. I can do the things that I want to do. I don't have grooves in my shoulders from bra straps. And thank goodness - I don't need to buy custom-made bras.

But...and for me, it's a big but... They make my life so much more difficult. [Here's the whining part, if you'd like to skip...]. I am a runner. I like to think of myself as an athlete. They get in the way. They hurt. They make it hard to run. It is really hard to find sports bras when you are not a big person in other ways - but you need to contain breasts that are larger than "normal".

It's hard to find regular clothes that fit well. If something fits over my chest, I can guarantee it's too big elsewhere. I wear baggy shirts because I don't like drawing attention to them. On my rest days - when I read the paper in my pjs? - I actually put on a bra before hand because it hurts to have them unsupported.

I've never been able to wear cute tops like my college roommates, or cute bathing suits, or any of that. It's been all about the industrial "nun bras" (as my mother calls them). The bathing suits with high necks. Trying to find tops that conceal and cover but don't make me look like I'm 2 sizes bigger than I really am.

And don't get me started on the week before my period.

Last night, I realized that they impair the forward and back motion of my arms. Like when I'm in the shower. I need to bring my arms out to the side to accommodate them. And when I lie on my back? They are big enough to sag into my armpits.

Even worse, it's not like they're doing what they were put there to do. I can't get pregnant. It's not likely that I will ever need to breastfeed. So at this point? They're big, honking reminders of the fact that my body has failed at this most basic of functions - ensuring the continuation of the species.

I remember complaining to my mother at some point in my late 20s, how they're irritating, they're too big, why didn't I get her smaller chest? She mentioned that she'd been like me when younger, but then she breastfed, and poof! Her boobs shrank. I held onto that statement like a frickin' lifeline. I'm serious. I thought, well, if I can just get pregnant, and breastfeed for as long as possible, maybe they'll shrink? And I won't need to go through the rest of my life embarrassed, in pain, and always seeking THE sports bra that will keep them from flailing about without, you know, squishing them up to my chin.

And then, not to be able to get pregnant? It's just another one in the long line of blows that came from that news. A small one, perhaps, to someone looking from the outside. But when you live with it gets old after a while.

There's not much I can do. As I said, this is my personal opinion, which is not likely quantifiable and insurance-coverable. I don't meet other peoples' criteria for 'wow, how bad is that?' so unless we hit the lottery, I am going to have to learn to live with them - and what they will never do for me. Right now, that's pretty hard.

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