In Bloom

For many of us, the idea of blooming into a woman was an exciting prospect. I remember there being so much emphasis on those two organs that grew upon our chests. I remember the pain they caused me as they grew. I cried myself to sleep many nights in the 7th grade because I went from an A- to a D-cup seemingly overnight.
By the same token, I remember how, even at that age, I somehow felt more attractive because I had breasts than I would be without them. No, I did not base my worth on my breasts, but I did gain more confidence in those awkward years for having them.

As I’ve grown older, I have had a more hate than love relationship with my own breasts.

They were not great milk producers when I tried to breastfeed my son. They still make shirt-shopping such a hassle and the “boob gap” you get with button-down shirts is a thing!

Not to mention the fact that I regularly find random debris in my bras. I must be struggling with where to put food because, no matter how hard I try, some bit of food ends up down my shirt.

Yet, I’m not sure how I’d feel without my breasts. If they were taken away or if I had to have them surgically removed, how would I feel?

I am just really not sure. 

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