“I don’t know what kind of crazy gene you got,” said my mom. “Must’ve been from your father’s side.”
I was 13 years old in the fitting room at Macy’s, and my mother and I were staring in the mirror, both fixated on my breasts. Smooshed into a Betsey Johnson dress, size large, they looked like a giant butt underneath my small chin.
In that tiny little space, the tension grew: After five hours of shopping, we still had yet to find a dress—not to mention a bra—that was appropriate for both my age and my body.
As long as I can remember, I was always, as my mother put it, “overdeveloped.” In sixth grade I filled out dance recital costumes in a way that made them look inappropriate, and by 16, I was ogled by men at beaches who, I’d like to think, didn’t know any better. And every single day, getting dressed was a challenge at best, mortifying at worst.
I am now almost 30, and delighted to tell you I’ve come through the other side. I’d love to say I’ve made it through unscarred, but that isn’t the case—being a big-busted teen was very painful for me (as you can tell), and at the age of 20, I underwent a breast reduction.
While I’m positive I would have still had the surgery—those things hurt!—I know that the years leading up to it would’ve been so much more bearable if I had heard other women’s stories about what it’s like to grow up with a big bust. Hopefully, my posts—about what I went through, and how I got through it—can make the burden a little easier to bear.
Tags: body image, breast reduction, teen