This is for my large breasted sisters out there, so y’all best be paying attention. I’m here to talk to you about breast reductions. Now I know that has some of y’all clutching your bosom crying “Why? Why would anyone want to reduce these precious babies?” and I’m telling you now: That makes you part of the problem, but we’ll get back to that later. The truth is that a breast reduction is an incredibly invasive, incredibly painful procedure that can put you out of commission for weeks. Not only is the pain through the roof, but the social stigma of making your breasts smaller can be an even worse than the attention you get having cantaloupes on your chest. People, and specifically boys, just simply do not understand why anyone would want to get rid of their fun-bags (even if you don’t find them very fun) because, let’s face it, breasts are fetishized. I’m here to talk about my experience losing the boobage and how people made it a problem.
When I was a wee high school lass I realized that I had a big problem. Two of them actually. I went on a date with a boy who spent the entire time talking about how ridiculously large my breast were. “They’re just so big,” he explained, “I can’t help myself, they’re, like, blinding.” I had a reputation in my high school of having big boobs. In fact, I was apart of and heard about many conversations that revolved around my boobs all too frequently. It got to a point where I felt like my chesticles were the only thing people noticed about me and the source of my value. On top of all that I was dealing with back pain so intense that I couldn’t stand comfortably for more than 15 minutes. I missed entire football games because it was too painful to sit in a chair without a back. My double Ds were trying to give me wacked out back and I was sick and tired of my gargantuan twins. Hence my journey to a breast reduction started.
I did all the research. I spent over a year gleaning what information that I could. I learned that I would have two large, T-shaped scars that started at the nipples and cut down and around the bottoms of the breasts. Depending on the extent of the surgery I could be out of commission for weeks and would definitely be in considerable pain. I wouldn’t have the full use of my arms for a month or more and knowing me I would probably need help doing just about everything for the first few days. I’m a baby like that. I discovered that the doctor would have to measure and take pictures of me topless, and at the time the thought terrified me. Not only that but an entire surgical team staring intently at my boobs for hours? Yikes. The surgery would be debilitating and incredibly invasive, both medically and personally, but damn I was determined to get it.
With my parents convinced and my first appointment set, I was so excited. I basically told everyone that I knew what I was doing. I figured if they could talk about my body in any way they wanted, so could I. I soon found out nobody wanted to listen to me. No matter what my reasons were or how many times I explained it, no one seemed to understand. Boys thought that I was stupid. My beautiful friends were the reason that I was attractive, why ruin that? Other girls were in some ways worse than the boys. “You literally have the boobs that every girl wishes they had, why are you complaining?” Sometimes they would act like I was straight up insane. I stuck by my decision, but I stopped talking about it so much because more than anything I was tired of feeling judged.
One day, a few months after I started the process, I was on my way home and my mom called me and said she had news. She told me she had just talked with the insurance company and they weren’t going to pay for my surgery. I burst into tears on the spot. After everything that I had done to prepare, the research, the doctors appointments, and mental preparation was all for nothing. It was all out the window because my big problems weren’t big enough. For the insurance to kick in a high percentage of my weight needed to me taken away, or else it was considered cosmetic. As if a 17 year old girl would opt for a breast reduction for looks? I just cried and cried. It took awhile, but my mom convinced me it wasn’t the end of the world and that we could figure it out together
Then I went home, bought a gym membership, and started exercising regularly. If medicine couldn’t help me, I was at least going to try and fix it myself. I didn’t lose a much of weight, but I didn’t have much weight to lose, just boobs. And lose boobs I did. I went from a 38DD to a 36C and have stayed pretty consistently at the latter for a long time. I got what I wanted, just not in the way that I wanted to. Despite the result, I am glad that I went through the process. It taught me a lot about people and the value of listening to different perspectives. If I had to go back I wouldn’t change a thing.