When I was a teenager I weighed 95 pounds and wore a 34C and got to be a D at some point. That was huge for such a skinny girl! I hated that not one single person on this planet would look me in the eye when talking to me as, apparently, they were the first thing anyone saw. And I don’t care if I’m not politically correct here, but I’ll just say it: men think that big boobs stand for “get me in bed now!”.
By the time I was 40 I weighed 119 pounds and my boobs sort of shrunk to a more “normal” size of 34B, yet the thought of them being big was still there so I had been using sports bras for over 10 years to be able to walk fast without them moving like they had a life of their own and wear blouses without the boob-button opening up.
I hated that I had to get size 12 blouses so the darn button would stay in place. Not anymore. I now buy my size and can wear pretty much anything I like. And even my long necklaces stay in place. So it’s fantastic!
Breast cancer left me with no breasts… and I couldn’t be happier. Yeah, some say I’m crazy, but I really do believe it’s the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me. It is a blessing somehow, regardless of how it came about.
I’m so comfortable with this that I don’t see anyone noticing that the girls are missing. Maybe it has to do with me not caring at all that I’m as flat as an ironing board.
So I’m not depressed nor worried about what breast cancer left me with -or without- I just focus on enjoying the new me.
And I now love going shopping!