My Journey Back To Me

When I was a young teenager, I remember my friends beginning to go training bra shopping with their parents and I remember being so jealous that I couldn’t because I wasn’t growing boobies yet. I waited impatiently for them but they never did grow past a 32AA. Basically I just had swollen nipples. I was so embarrassed of my flat chest. Not a day went by when I didn’t think about it. I made myself more insecure by believing that I would never be good enough unless I had what every other women around me had: breasts. My step-mother at the time had natural DD’s and just didn’t understand my obsession. She told me to be grateful that I had small boobs for all the reasons that most women with large breasts tell you: backaches, popping buttons out of your blouses, not being taken seriously, never getting eye contact, etc. But I wanted those things. Or so I thought.

The boys teased me and other girls teased me which only made my insecurities worse. I was told that I was the president of the ‘Itty Bitty [RS bleep] Committee’ and had nothing more than ‘infected mosquito bites’. Kids are cruel.
So, after puberty came and went, I still had 32AA’s but I had grown a curvy backside. I was all butt and no boobs. I felt like I had the bodily shape of a spoon. I would stuff my bras with cotton batting or socks. Of course I couldn’t stuff them right and they were lumpy. One time my Dad even looked at me funny and asked if I was stuffing my bra. My teenage self was MORTIFIED. Teenagers are mortified easily anyway. Or at least I was.

Aside from comparing myself to my friends and classmates I was also heavily influenced by TV programs such as The Girls Next Door and the old cartoon character, Jessica Rabbit, as well as several magazines, actresses, etc. I thought that boobs were the answer! Women with breasts even seemed to have it all! They had handsome men in their lives and they even could control men’s behavior with their magic boobs. They demanded attention and women who had breasts were taken more seriously. This was my way of thinking anyway. No man had ever not listened to what I had to say because my cleavage was too distracting for them.
I was so convinced that I needed breasts in order to be happy that I decided that when the day came when I could, I would get breast implants.

Fast forward into my early 20’s and I finally had a job and the income (well, the credit) where I could buy myself breast implants. I wanted to fill out shirts and feel better about myself. I still felt like I wasn’t ‘woman’ enough because ‘real women have curves’, right? And I didn’t think a curvy booty counted.

You’re still here reading? Cool! Then I’ll keep going. I was big into fitness in my early 20’s and heavy into martial arts. It’s amazing how a Gi can hide a flat chest. I was very fit and muscular. I finally had established a line of credit and could put a breast implant procedure on a credit card. So, I met with several plastic surgeons and had many consultations. I finally decided on one that I really liked and I scheduled my appointment. Through my insecurities, I still dated and got married but I always felt like the men were laughing at my flat chest. When I told my my husband I was going to get implants, he was totally against it. He couldn’t understand why I needed the implants so badly when he was happy with my body the way I was. I told him that it was because I wasn’t happy and unless I got the implants, I never would be. So I did it. I felt that breast implants would fix everything I hated about myself. When I was 24 I got 400cc silicone implants placed sub muscularly under general anesthesia. I put $5,500 on my credit card with a 24.99% interest rate. When I woke up, I remember thinking ‘I can finally be happy now’.

But it turns out that it was only a temporary fix. Like a new purse, the new eventually wore off and I realized that changing my body didn’t make me happy. I was convinced that my lack of breasts had been the problem with everything for so long that I didn’t even realize that I had other deeper issues to work out. Because even with my new boobs, I still wasn’t happy. Yes, I felt more ‘womanly’ but it didn’t fix my insecurities. They hadn’t fixed anything really. And they were not what I thought they’d be. But I didn’t want to believe that I had been wrong because for literally most of my life, I was fixated on having breasts.

Here’s what I really wish I would have known about breast implants before getting them and what I tell people who are considering them to expect:
I always feel them. They are a different temperature than my own body. They’re cold. I can see rippling when I bend forward. I have huge scars now. They are foreign objects so naturally your body will attack them by building a protective capsule around them. I feel them when I do any sort of chest exercises. I can’t do push ups or pull ups anymore without feeling them and without a small amount of pain. They move when I flex. If I raise my arms above my head and get a hug, I get an intense amount of sharp pain under my breasts. They’re in the way when I hug someone. I can no longer enjoy lying on my stomach because I feel giant hard balls in my chest. They look ridiculous on my tiny frame because I went from a 32AA to a 32DDD. I used to have trouble finding bras in 32AA in the stores. Well, I really have trouble finding bras in a 32DDD now.

Prior to pregnancy (but also during and after) I began getting into yoga and meditation and other hippie-like things such as essential oils, coconut oil, natural makeup, eating healthy, becoming vegetarian, and I discovered who I finally wanted to be. I suppose I finally ‘grew-up’ I worked out my deeper issues. These giant plastic/silicone bags in my chest were not the values I believed in. Also, I began reading about breast implant illness, and how they were causing autoimmune disorders, and other horrible things like that. My family is prone to autoimmune disorders and that scared the crap out of me.

I began to consider having them removed but I was still paying on the credit card I used to have them placed. And then I got pregnant with my son and I wanted to breastfeed him. I successfully did so for his benefit for 2 years. We have weaned within the past 3 months and that pesky credit card has been paid off.

I was too young when I had the initial surgery. They say brain development isn’t complete until around the age of 25. I should have waited. It took a mutiliation of my body to realize that I was perfect the way I was. But I wonder if I would have ever realized that without having had the surgery.

Our bodies are amazing and they are constantly fighting a battle to keep us healthy and alive and instead of appreciating that I was so selfish in thinking that I had to mutilate myself to look just like every other woman out there. I realized I was unique with my little ‘rare miniatures’. Also, when I got pregnant and breastfed, it became extremely obvious what boobs are really for. They’re not for men. They’re not for people to oogle over. They’re to nourish and grow a tiny human being. And my boobies had no trouble growing my little human despite the surgery I put them through.

Now that I have weaned my son and have paid off the credit card I used to get them, I decided now is finally the time to have them removed. I’m going to the same plastic surgeon who put them in initially. I have developed a mild capsular contraction on the left side that is somewhat painful now. So I want these fake plastic clown boobs out of my body. Again, my husband is not supportive. He says I’ll have flapjack breasts as I have chosen not to get a lift at this time. But I decided on this method because I would like to have more children in the future one day and I’m afraid a lift could prevent me from producing milk. I’ll readdress that subject in the future if it’s needed.

My surgery is scheduled for this coming Monday (Jan 18) to have them removed. I think I have everything ready. Thanks to all of the other stories I have read of other brave women on this website, I feel pretty prepared. I have my medications (Keflex, Demerol, and Tylenol) ready, lots of water and fruit, have arranged child care, have a driver as well as a gift for her, have frozen meals, compression bras, pillows, and vitamin e oil. I have chosen to have local anesthesia rather than general this time. I am a little afraid that the capsular contracture in my left breast might be worse than expected and I’ll have to have a more in depth surgery. I will update you guys as I go through my journey to get back to myself and appreciate myself for who I am.

I feel like I should be more nervous than I am. I am really afraid that I'm going to miss my implants at times because I'm afraid I'll revert to that younger version of myself with the mindset in thinking that I need large breasts to be a 'real woman'. I'm afraid those younger insecurities will creep back in. But then I remember all the reasons I want these implants out of my body. I don't want an autoimmune disorder. I love myself for me even though I feel I look ridiculous with these implants now. I mean, I love myself for the small chest I used to have and will have again. I miss running without a bra. I want the pain to go away. I want to actually be able to sleep on my stomach without having to guard my chest. I want to hug someone fully without worrying if the other person knows they're 'fake' or hug someone without them squishing my chest and taking my breath away.
My little 'tool bag' with all my post-op goodies are on my nightstand. It's my reminder that this is really happening.
I think anyone who is going through this process needs to have a list of all the positive reasons they are about to let someone slice a scalpel through their chest. The list will remind them why they are doing this. I'm reading my list now to remind myself of my own reasons.
I think I'm going to go into this surgery with the expectation that they're going to look absolutely horrible for the first week or longer. I know they're going to be a wrinkly, flap jack mess. I'm scared to even look at them but I will anyway so I can take pictures and monitor the progress.
So I think maybe I am a little more nervous than I thought.
This hippie is going to clean her house from top to bottom again for the 4th time today. Nervous energy maybe? 5 deep breaths, right? Inhale... Exhale... Goosfrabah...