How I Learned to Love My Boobs (o)(o)

Woohoo!  Today I’m writing about boobs!

Breasts.

Ta-tas.

Melons.

Boobies.

You get the idea.

Let me begin by saying that it’s only recently that I’ve fallen in love with my breasts.

For a good 23 years of my life I hated my chest – whenever anyone asked what I’d change about my body (if I could choose one thing to magically alter), I would – without hesitation – say my boobs.

I have been relatively flat chested my entire life.  When my friends hit puberty and began buying bras, my chest still looked like those little candy dots that come on parchment paper.  I made my mom buy me some of those stretchy “training” bra things and wore them eagerly, even though there was no discernable bump beneath the fabric.

There was no doubt that my boobs were smaller than all of my friends, though they did their best to assure me that having a more “well-rounded” chest was not all it was cracked up to be.  They envied that I could fit into any top, that I could run with no pain, and that if a guy liked me, it was obviously for more than my cup size (this sentiment did not make me feel much better).

As I got older, my chest swelled ever so slightly, turning into something somewhere between a AA and an A cup (for anyone who doesn't know, that’s about as small as you can get in bra land).  Ironically, I ended up working at Victoria’s Secret throughout high school.  This ended up being kind of depressing, since Vicky’s doesn't carry lingerie sets in anything smaller than a B.  They make smaller bras, but I couldn’t fit into a sexy bustier or nightie unless I wanted to store several socks and tissues in the half empty cup.  I could never get a strapless bra to function either – or a strapless dress/top for that matter.  I’d constantly be hoisting the fabric back up over my nips; nothing I did would make strapless tops stay put.

In college I focused on empathizing my bum.  I wore short dresses and shorts, hoping to draw attention to my legs and backside, and divert attention from my chest (or lack thereof).  Basically I did whatever I could to make up for my small breasts.

At some point I began wearing two push-up bras to morph my A cup into a faux C cup, and I learned how to contour cleavage with makeup.  I put a whole lot of effort into trying to change my chest.  I considered plastic surgery regularly.  I did the research, found well-referenced doctors, and even called a couple of places about setting up an appointment.  But the sheer cost of the procedure hindered me at every turn.  I was living on a waitress’s salary – I couldn’t afford to buy my dream boobs.

So I continued to pad and push and complain to anyone and everyone about my child-like physique. 

And though my friends and family were supportive and reminded me at every turn that my body was beautiful, there were a fair amount of other people in my life who – sadly – reinforced my obsession with having bigger breasts.

The proverbial mean girls in high school mockingly called me, “flat chested.”

I've had anonymous people online leave comments on my photos saying things like, "Get a boob job!"  and "Your tits are too small."

I’ve been told countless times by strangers – generally when I’m waitressing or bartending – that “if you just had bigger boobs, you’d be perfect.”

I even had a boyfriend – someone I loved and who I thought loved me – tell me one night: “I wish you had bigger breasts.”

I was crushed.  Devastated.  I felt so undesirable and hurt in that moment.

After that relationship ended, I fell into the habit of apologizing to any potential bfs/hook-ups about my small chest.

“I know I have small boobs,” I’d say with a flirty smile, “But I have a really great ass.”  I made it sound like a joke, but I truly felt the need to bring up/make an excuse for/offer compensation for my lady lumps.

I moved to LA just over a year ago.  Before the move, I remember being consciously afraid that everyone in the city would have teeny tiny waists and massive boobs.  I was convinced I’d automatically be cast out of Hollywood for having an unimpressive chest.

Instead, I found a city of people happy to embrace their bodies no matter their chest size.  Sure, there are people here obsessed with looks, and people who prefer certain sizes/shapes/etc., but the mindset here is refreshingly non-judgmental (weird right?  People need to dismiss the stereotype that everyone in LA is self-obsessed and has bleach blonde hair – though I do love my bleach blonde coif lol).

I was so inspired by all the small chested women who had embraced their shape, and – for the first time – I started to see and welcome the benefits of being an A cup.  I truly appreciate that I can run with no bouncing chest pain.  I love that I can fit into basically any top and not worry about being “work appropriate.”  Most of all, I love not wearing a bra at all.  Honestly, I wear a bra maybe once a week now, and when I do, it drives me crazy.  I flaunt my itty bitty boobies like never before.  Not in an attempt to garner attention or attract the gaze of men or women.  I do it because, finally, I’m 100% in love with my body and my breasts.  Thanks to a wonderful network of strong, confident, body-positive female friends, an amazing bf who adores my ta-tas, and my own (on-going) journey to self-love, I’ve come to cherish my perky little chest.

I know women struggle with their chest size no matter the situation.  Some of my busty friends deal daily with the sheer heaviness of bigger breasts/the catcalls/the inconvenience and pain.  I know other women who have fought breast cancer; women whose chests show the scars of a battle fought and won.  There are women who change their boobs for medical reasons, and others who do it for cosmetic reasons.  Some people have floppy boobs, other people have triangular-ish boobs.  Some people's boobs stick out more than others.  There are big nipples, small nipples, all different shades and colors of nipples.  Some people let it all hang out, other's prefer to cover the gals up.  No two sets of breasts are the same.  And that is fucking beautiful.   Do or don't do whatever you want/need/feel like doing - but do it for you.  I don't want any woman (straight, gay, cis, trans) to feel the way I’ve felt about my chest.  I hope to encourage women not to give into society’s pressures – whether it’s to have big boobs or smaller boobs, round boobs or pointy boobs, whatever.  For goodness sake, they’re just boobs.  At the end of the day, we’re each a hell of a lot more than our cup size.

So here’s to all my chesty gals, my ladies with fabulous fake boobs, my grrrls with teensy titties, and every other sort of wonderful wahwahs.  You are not your chest size!  No matter your snuggle pup situation (best name for boobs EVER), rock it, embrace it, and love it.

XOXO!  (o)(o)