Thursday, November 15, 2012

At War With My Breasts

I walked into the store paranoid of the people who weren't actually looking at me. Anxiously finding my way to the intimate section of the store. As I looked for my 'new' size people would enter the same row and stand next to me; I was ashamed of my size, the fact I had to look over every rack to find something that wasn't too flashy or really bland, and I could sense my ineptitude sweating from my pores.

This is the current outing in an attempt to call truce with my chest. I am in no way accepting them and I still very-much-so detest what they have done to me, but I am conceding into their demands for room, for space.

The part of me that understands what bodies are meant to do and be realizes my breasts haven't done anything to me. If anything there should be a certain amount of irritation I found out at 28 that I am bigger than I thought. But, it isn't my boobs fault. They are supposed to be a sign of health and a source of comfort and nutrition to children, not an object I want to lob off if I had the opportunity. Just because I have been viewed as a sexual object doesn't mean I have to view them the same way.

Space, that's all they are asking for. Not to get bigger. Not to just keep going up in size. But what they haven't ever had because they were stuffed into a 'box' too small in which to breathe. So I am giving this to them in the same way I should have been given what I needed growing up.

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