A message was recently sent about me… it wasn’t very flattering. In it they attacked everything about me.
“She is actually not that pretty. Without all the makeup, elaborate 50s hair, and creative photography to make her look pretty, she is just a boring fat chick whose boobs look more like “man boobs” on an overweight 12 year old then female breasts.”
Ok, grammatical errors aside, clearly this is intended to be hateful, and body shame me in every way possible.
I don’t Photoshop my pictures. What you see is what you get. I know I’m hot. I’m a pretty girl in a ponytail, and no makeup, and I’m a smoking hot one when I dress up. These comments don’t bother me. They smack of jealously, and clearly people think I AM pretty if they have to use the line “…she’s not even that pretty”.
So, let’s talk about the only thing left. My breasts. Yup, it’s boob time.
My breasts are frankly my biggest chink in the armor. I was born with polycystic ovarian syndrome. It caused me to start menstruating as a CHILD. One of the “symptoms” of PCOS is under developed breasts. I come from a long line of very tiny, very large breasted women… then there’s me. Even with PCOS, I still wear a C cup in most bras. There you go guys who always ask! They’re C’s!. Growing up around the women in my family though, left me with a complex I’ve never been able to shake. It doesn’t help that I’m NOT a tiny girl, so there’s always way too much room in shirts. It makes me cry sometimes to go clothes shopping.
Then there’s shape, and this is the BIGGEST problem for me. They aren’t shaped like porn stars. They’re spaced too far apart, so I buy bras that bully them into place. They aren’t the perfect tear drop, and while my nipples don’t point to the floor, I wish they were higher. I’ve seen women with the same shape as mine, but somehow I don’t hate THEIRS, I just hate mine.
I’ve spent years wanting a boob job. I want wonderful, perfect (in my eyes) breasts like the rest of my family. I WANT TO THROW AWAY MY BRAS AND LET THOSE BABIES FREE! I’m constantly cracking jokes that what men like about me, they could have themselves, for the low low price of $79.99 at Victoria’s Secret.
I’m ashamed of my body.
I’ve grown to love the rest of myself, through years of work, the support of partners, and frankly, Sinful Sunday. The one thing (well two) that I haven’t grown to accept however, are my breasts. Because of that message though, I think it’s time to change that.
I LOVE ME!
If you don’t like me, that’s great, have a nice life. Body shaming makes YOU the asshole, not me. And it seems like no matter which way you go, there’s body shaming everywhere! My partner in crime wrote a post about being body shamed for being such a small target. Meanwhile, other people are shaming me for being curvy and not having huge breasts. It’s ridiculous! I have stood up against people mocking heavier people and been told “oh, YOU’RE not fat. So yeah, you’re a thick girl, but that person was FAT.”
I’m tired of worrying so much about these things, and I’m tired of hearing it. You’re beautiful. You, the person. And we’re all unique, and that’s what makes us fabulous. So to all the girls out there that don’t have perfect breasts, or who feel bad about themselves. Stop. You’re lovely.
While this post was off topic for Wicked Wednesday, there are many other wonderful posts about making bad sex, sexy. Click the link below!