Every month a new magazine wrapped in its secretive brown paper arrived. It would be carefully stashed under the couch, but within the reach of a curious little girl. “Playboy” was filled with pictures of thin women with large breasts in various awkward positions. Somewhat horrified and confused, I believed one day, I would look like the women that my dad admired.
To prepare, I stuffed tennis balls into my shirt and admired my boobs from different angles in the mirror. However, God reversed my curves. According to my aunt, my bubble butt came in when I was 18-months old, before my first molar. Being a white girl in Kansas, I did not appreciate my biggest asset. I knew one day my breasts would overshadow my derrière, but sadly that day never arrived.
My disappointment was compounded when an8th Grade classmate called me “Monkey Butt” during a game of 4-square. Oh boy, that made the boys on the playground laugh and it quickly caught on. My only saving grace was that it was toward the end of the school year and long forgotten by the time we entered high school. But my self-loathing lingered behind me for years.
My lack of self-esteem brought me disrespectful and abusive relationships. My high school ’sweetheart’ bought magazines that made “Hustler” look like “Good Housekeeping”, and the comments he made to his buddies about my small breasts, solidified my poor body image.
Finally, Sir-Mix-a-lot released “Baby Got Back” and an appreciative following was formed at my office. I began to embrace my round rear, but I never really forgave my boobs for letting me down. I picked up a breast augmentation brochure, believing fuller breasts would be the magic wand that made everything perfect, but I couldn’t justify the expense. Years later, a co-worker told me how incredibly painful the recovery was and I watched her suffer through another procedure attempting to get them right, before she finally removed them all together. The thought of it makes me wrap my protective arms around my chest.
Eventually, I found enough self-esteem to attract a husband who is a big-butt-little-tit kind of man. He is my booty’s No. 1 fan, but I never fully released my A-cup inferiority. Whenever I see a girly magazine or a stripper scene in a movie, my insecurities overwhelm me like attempting to fill out a DD bra.
Poor body image is something that most people, especially women, face every day. Today, on my 44th birthday, I am making a commitment to fully release years of pain. I vow to express more self-love every day and accentuate my assets. I will appreciate and love my body for the miraculous creation it is. Through awareness, every time I feel my body insecurities rising from deep within, I will pause, take a step back from the cause, and find something wonderful to acknowledge and love about my body.
I believe this is going to be my breast year yet!