WHY I LIKE BOOBS: PART 1
DISCLAIMER: THIS SERIES OF POSTS IS COMPLETELY CONCEPTUALLY UNFILTERED.
Please be aware that the intent of this series in no way aims to create a spectacle of my experience or to advocate for or against any choice that YOU make. This is a place occupied by me trying to make sense of the way my mind and brain function together and why I am the way I am. This is me digging REALLY deep into myself and yanking those skeletons out of the closet. I’m letting you see them, too. Through providing my personal experiences, I hope to help inspire you to find in yourself a deeper desire to examine YOUR what and why.
That being said, let’s talk tits.
There are many things I could say using smart art words as to why I am so intrigued by breasts. I could say it’s because I’m an artist who is fascinated by the visual impact of such a confrontational form and that the balanced ability for the volume to be viscerally felt is stunning. I could say the symmetricality of form in itself, particularly when it is adjacent to its neighboring form is impeccably perfect. I could declare the sphere to be the most perfect form because its universal shape lends itself to a myriad of hosts and is able to bring them to life both with shape and form. With all that fla-la-la aside, I’ll explain my reflection on my shifting relationship with breasts, or more accurately, without them.
I’ve always liked boobs. I remember the squishiness of them as a young child and playing with my mom’s on hot summer afternoons. I remember Ariel being my favorite Disney princess, and I liked to draw her purple shell bra. I remember standing in front of my bedroom mirror at the age of 8, sticking socks in my shirt to see what it would look like when I had breasts like the women in my life.
I didn’t really think too much about WHAT breasts were for, I mostly just thought about how they looked. I wasn’t thinking about how they’re literally life giving, how they are functional parts of the woman’s body that are necessary for survival and humanity. Most of us as human beings have our first experiences with breasts as a place of nourishment, as a source of life.
When I think back on my thoughts growing up about breasts, I thought that girls who had them were more attractive and also really lucky. I would catch myself looking at other people’s breasts, not out of sexual desire but out of visual appreciation. This confused me. I felt guilty and wrong for thinking about boobs in general. I consciously repressed these thoughts because I didn’t want to think about what it would mean if I did, if it was normal, or if it was wrong.
The fact that I was super tall for my age, (even in kindergarten) and had decent chub did not help my situation. My dad and brother told me I needed to lose weight when I was around nine years old, and I went on my first “diet” the summer when I was ten years old. Growth spurts, early dieting, and sports all thinned me out by the time I was thirteen, but I didn’t know how to eat normally for my body or for my overall health. I only knew how to eat too much and how to not eat enough. I continued to diet throughout middle school and puberty not because I felt fat but because I wanted to stay as small as the other girls. My height and the number of the size I thought my body should be did not want to cooperate. Every time I went up a size I felt huge and masculine. Being toothpick thin and dainty was what I strive for because it looked like it could somewhat compensate for me being so tall.
When I joined the high school water polo team my freshman year, being naked in front of and around other women became a regular thing. I was constantly comparing myself to them, as I had not been endowed with the chest of the rest of my family. All through high school I remained a 34A, which feels microscopic on a 6 foot tall frame. I already had this underlying attraction for breasts, and became increasingly insecure and envious of girls who had them, especially when they were short. Sometimes I was made fun of for my flat chest, which definitely made things worse.
I didn’t understand why I wasn’t getting something that almost everyone else seemed to be given on top of having issues feeling feminine in my frame as a whole.
After my dad passed away and when I turned 18, I decided that if God wasn’t going to give me breasts that I was going to buy them myself.
More on that next week.