WHY I LIKE BOOBS: PART 4
Alright guys, we made it! This is the LAST of my titty testimonials and I’m super excited to share with you. In this post, I’m going to cover my biggest take away on this journey and what has ultimately led me to where I am now.
I hope this provokes thought.
Getting boobs didn’t solve my problems. I thought that once I fixed what I had believed made me most insecure about my body that the negative thoughts I had about myself would go away. I assumed that I would finally feel good in my own skin, I would feel more accepted by others, and that I would exude confidence in general.
I got surgery because I wanted to change my lack. I didn’t hate how I looked, but I had a serious case of the “If I just have ______ then everything will get better” syndrome. I thought that once I took this step that I would be a confident person inside and out, end of story. I mean, how could it not work? I finally had the one thing I had always obsessed over.
At first, I was on cloud 9. I bought new clothes that I couldn’t pull off before and walked with super swagger. I started putting myself out there a little more in social situations and daydreamed about the level of life that I had appeared to have just levitated to through my own will. I started modeling for fun and getting male attention without having to wear two bras. It looked like things were only going to get better, and I was stoked.
Little by little, the shiny new boobs faded into the background, along with my newfound confidence and sparkle. To my surprise, it didn’t take away my insecurities. In some ways, it made things worse.
Getting surgery had been an investment emotionally, psychologically, financially and physically. Instead of being happy with the results, my focus shifted to other areas of my body that needed to be better now in order to measure up. Physical perfection became the object of my attention. By altering myself and getting away with it, my obsession over physical beautification grew more and more idealistic. It seemed as though because I had been able to alter one part of my body, that now all the other little things I didn’t like about myself should be subject to change. My eating disorder escalated because I prioritized the quick fix over health. I had gotten boobs through my own will, why couldn’t I get everything else now?
My relationship with my body operated in extreme toxicity. Looking back now, I’m pretty floored at how calloused I was to my own needs and how I continued to talk down on myself. I had a subconscious checklist of what I needed to change about my body for it to be the way I wanted. When I “fell off the wagon” or skipped the gym, I would punish myself by binge eating and purging (a story for another time) and I completely disregarded my own body’s survival cues. Nothing about myself was ever good enough to tip the scale into personal acceptance. I was so incredibly disrespectful to myself.
Other fears started to surface that I hadn’t anticipated.
Ironically, my boy-phobia got worse. I was now even more scared when I encountered the moment of the dreaded second base. Fake boobs look real, but they sure as hell don’t feel real. My fear shifted from “what happens when they find out I have small boobs” to “what happens when they find out my boobs are fake?” Moreover, what happens when they find out I’m fake?
The surgery left prominent scars. I bought cream to make them go away, but it didn’t work. I tried my best to hide them, but sooner or later I was always found out. This became a metaphor for how I saw myself — scarred. Flawed, imperfect, irrelevant.
What I realize now is that me getting a boob job was an attempt at self acceptance. What had been a choice to help me love myself made me realize there was a whole other level of acceptance I needed to find for myself.
Adding breasts didn’t fix what was wrong. My surgery was skin deep, and what I needed was much much deeper. I didn’t need to use knives, money couldn’t pay for it and I didn’t need a doctor. My compassionless pursuit of perfection wasn’t making me any better, it was actually making me worse. The way I was treating myself was causing damage from the inside out.
What I know now is that I’m scarred, and I’m cool with it. In fact, I honor it.
Scars show where you’ve been, not where you’re going. My scars are a reminder of my past and of something that taught me a lesson.
Getting a boob job was so much more than just silicone in my chest. I don’t know whether or not I would’ve gotten to where I am now without them, all I know is how it’s changed my personal path and how I now view myself.
Three years later and I’m only 22, so obviously I have a lot more to find. What I know now is that this surgery helped me realize I have the power to change myself for the better externally, and that the real operation is to shift what’s on the inside.
Thanks for sticking with me through this series. I hope this brings someone out there insight, hope or direction to their greater good. 💕