My Boob Job

19 years ago today, on April 2, 2002, my life changed forever. It was the culmination of decisions I’d made that I wasn’t good enough. Never had been. Never would be. I was hell bent. I wasn’t married, but had a boyfriend (now my husband of almost 16 years) who insisted that I was fine the way I was. I couldn’t see his adoration of me through the lens of the terribly scratched and foggy glasses I viewed myself. The mirror told me lies and I believed them. And the lies of the mirror and my imaginary friend… eh-hem, enemy, were the loudest voices in my head. The most convincing and the only ones that mattered. 

So, despite his objection, albeit not extreme, I went through with one of the biggest mistakes of my life. I knew it almost immediately, although not for reasons I’d realize probably a decade later. That day, I came home and felt the (literal) weight of my bad decision, awful regret. It was a tight and so unnatural feeling. I told my sister and my aunt and even my future husband, “This was a mistake.” They all did their best to reassure me that it was the pain talking or that I’d just need to get used to the new me. I’d already experienced a c-section so I wasn’t unfamiliar with pain. The implants had went in through my armpit and were filled after they went in, so there was very minimal pain, if any, especially when compared to an emergency c-section. 

It wasn’t the pain talking. 

It was the glasses. I’d taken them off. And the reality of what I’d done to myself was so much worse than my natural self. I was so embarrassed. Embarrassed about my new boobs — they were HUGE. I’d went from an A to a “full B, small C.” It was just too much to take. I was embarrassed at my immature and superficial perspective of myself. I was embarrassed that my vanity had hoodwinked me into spending that much money on myself. I felt so much shame and guilt. 

It didn’t take too long to heal. And I got used to that tight feeling, but I never got used to the feeling of wanting to take them off — unstrap them from my body like an overstuffed bra filled with water balloons. 

I went on to years modeling the best shirts and dresses and collected up the compliments about how everything looks good on me. That wasn’t the worst. But the fun was short lived. 

It only took about three years to experience the first noticeably severe symptom — the first of so many. I felt ruined and wouldn’t realize it was the implants for too many more years. 

Anyway, I just wanted to take a minute to acknowledge this day, and appreciate that I’m finally on the other side of those chronic inflammation causing antagonists. Almost a year out. And every day gets better, and that’s not even close to an exaggeration.