I started the puberty process at eight years old. I had my first period at nine. I was in a B-cup bra by the time I was eleven. By the time the rest of my classmates were in training bras, I was a D-cup, and this wasn’t because I was terribly overweight.
Here I am with my wonderful sister. I am sixteen, definitely not fat, and very well-endowed:
All this to say, my boobs have been a large part of me for a very long time.
Breast are hilarious. Truly. I understand the appeal, I think they are beautiful–but they are also bizarre. They are fat tissue made for feeding babies, and yet they are worshiped. I think Rachel Bloom on Crazy Ex-Girlfriend explains this best in her song “My Heavy Boobs.”
It’s a rough life having large boobs. I understand that small-boobed women have it rough in a different way, but I mean physically it is really rough having large boobs. While writing for long periods of time, I have propped up books so that my boobs can rest on them and give my back a break. You can never find a bra that fits right, and a swimsuit? HA! Forget it!
I wear a 36 DDD in bras. A 36DDD can also be called a 36F. I once had a conversation with my grandmother where I asked her what came after a Double-D in bra size and she said…
Well at that point you just chop a basketball in half and find some rope to tie around yourself.
But having big breasts is also difficult psychologically, especially if you were raised Christian, because you were given the impression that they were something to be ashamed of.
I was ashamed of my boobs when I was changing in a pool shower with my 4th grade class at the gym. My towel slipped the girls turned and pointed, laughing that I had breasts while calling me fat (I was absolutely not).
I was ashamed of my boobs when I was in the 5th grade and wore men’s sized t-shirts that were four sizes too big for me with manatees on them to hide my not-so-budding breasts, because I was told that my female body would “cause the boys to stumble” in their purity.
I was ashamed of my boobs in high school when I ran cross country and all the other girls got to run in nothing but sports bras and I wore two bras and a reinforced tank top under my gym clothes to hide my “bouncing.”
I was ashamed of my boobs in college, after I had FINALLY chosen to except them and feel beautiful (and maybe actually wear something that fit) — but I was cast as the lead in a play and a bitch of a wanna-be-costume designer criticized the work of our REAL costume designer, while shoving tool down my front so that I could be more “appropriate.”
I was wearing this:
I was taught to be ashamed of my womanly features. My breasts were something to hide and be ashamed of ‘lest I in anyway cause a man to look at me with lust… Well, I’m through with that bullshit. I would like to take this moment to celebrate my breasts in all their glory.
I love my boobs. I love them. I love the way they make my waist look smaller. I love that they are exactly one inch larger in circumference than my hips, giving me a perfect hour glass. I think my breasts are beautiful. They are shapely. They are both the same size. They are wonderful. No, they do not have names. They are mine and I am proud of them. I think they are worth the extra effort in bra shopping. They are worth the expensive swimsuit. They are nothing to be ashamed of–this has taken me twenty years to learn, but I am proud to have learned it. I am embracing who I am, every piece, and every size, and my breasts are a part of that. So here is their thirty seconds of fame. Live it up, boobs! I am proud of of you, my beautiful sacks of yellow fat.
Weight: Oh who knows. How do you feel?: Happy, I am going to Harry Potter World today, so nothing’s going to drag me down. Small Victory: I had one “bad” meal a day, despite having a VERY hard week, instead of binging for a week solid Biggest Disappointment: I am not losing weight, because I’m not watching as closely as I should be Thing I appreciated about my body this week: MY BOOBS #embraceablenow: I have excellent breasts.
my boobs have