I remember first opening up to my mom about the possibility of one day having a breast reduction; I was thirteen. No parent really is thinking that far ahead, though I developed fairly early, so it was hard not to wonder what was around the corner. I was eight when puberty hit; I started needing deodorant and grew hair under one armpit. By age ten the boys were convinced I was stuffing my bra and one month after I turned eleven I had gotten my first period.
When it came to bra shopping, I still had a childlike mentality, and though I was probably beyond training bras I still resisted the idea of underwire. The summer before eighth grade, my dad and stepmom were tasked with back-to-school shopping, and since my mama had to deal with all the hygiene and period stuff, it was time for daddy to step up and force me to get the big-girl bra. It was figured a Mickey Mouse bra would take the stress off the fact that it was underwire and a size 36B at just thirteen. It fit really well, but it wasn’t until I got home to show it off that I saw it was actually a 36C.
By high school, I was a 36D and by graduation, a 38D. I could not wear a bra under my prom dress because being strapless it never stayed up and boob sweat was such an issue. Bikini tops hated me and I them; I wore an XL shirt and I was miserable. Because of my reluctance to wear underwire as I was developing, and because this development occurred super early, my breasts sagged down like bowling pins. Sure, guys loved them but I was still ashamed because they weren’t perky. They just lay there flat, like dead fish.
I lost weight in college but my chest never changed. I should have been a DD but never took that step. I slept in a bra because it was the most comfortable. I suffered from back pain and my asthma worsened with the added bra pressure. I couldn’t win. One day, when I was twenty-two and a senior in college, I was in the shower and looked down at my chest. I had finally had enough. I had not shown my mom my chest in years because I was embarrassed, but I stormed into her room and showed her. “I can’t live like this anymore.” They were ugly, they were older than me, and I was ashamed. It was time to have the talk we had been waiting almost a decade for. We researched plastic surgeons and I started going through the process for insurance to pay for it. They want you to lose weight but photos proved I had already done that. Then there is going to a chiropractor, which only showed my lower back was U-shaped from the weight of my chest. It caused so much pain; I just gave up and opted to pay out of pocket.
I proceeded to meet with a surgeon and through videos, learned there was a chance I might not be able to breastfeed down the road, something I had not even thought about. After the first meeting, I was completely sold because I could not live with men staring at my chest regardless of where I went, feeling like I was on display or had a shelf on me. I was forced to quit smoking four weeks in advance of the surgery, which is extremely hard when you’ve never had surgery and you’re panicking.
The morning of the surgery was when it really hit me. I was not scared of the surgery but rather of the IV and being knocked out. It was supposed to be a four-hour surgery and that scared me, but my doctor told me I could cancel and he would just go and play sports. I knew a week would go by and I would regret it. So, he proceeded to mark me up so he would know where to cut and many pictures had been taken in my pre-op visits as well as on surgery day. Once the IV went in, I remember being wheeled off then waking up. It ended up taking an hour longer than expected, probably because the doctor had no idea what he was in for once he cut me open. I was in very little pain, on morphine, so that helped.
Post-Surgery
The following morning, the surgeon came in to remove the bandage and I was stunned at what I saw. My breasts were now the size of two tiny paninis. I was beyond horrified and could see my mom was, too. What had I done? I went home to recover with painkillers and slept a lot but still went to class when I could. I could not bring myself to massage my chest because it all felt foreign. The pains that surged through my chest scared me but that was just my nerves coming back to life. I could not wear underwire for a few months and could barely look at myself as my nipples had been removed and placed worlds higher than they had ever been.
The real test was buying a graduation dress. Suddenly, a whole new world opened to me and I could wear any dress I wanted. That was the most amazing moment of my life. Halters, strapless—you name it, no bra needed.
Breasts When it Comes to Business
In the business world, I could buy much more professional attire; suit jackets now button without a problem, and I cannot stress the doors that have opened. My confidence level is now so much higher walking into an interview because, in my mind, I believe employers are looking at my résumé and qualifications, not my breasts.
Post-surgery, I was a 36A then gradually moved to a 36B. If I gained weight, I was a 38C and started to think I needed another reduction. It took five or six years to truly be okay with my decision, though I loved my clothing options, but I never quite felt like myself. Twelve years have gone by and I can honestly say it was the best thing and have no regrets. I have settled into a comfortable 38B and I am finally in the right body.