authentic experience

Sunday, April 09, 2006

my breasts: childhood

My breasts developed early, and I didn't want to grow up. I saw no benefit. So it was difficult to have these obvious signs on my chest, and I didn't like how it felt to be looked at by boys and men. I developed some bad posture in an attempt to minimize their viewability.

My mom and I fought horribly about wearing a bra. She wanted me to way before I wanted to. I think she wanted to conatin and protect my chichis, but I wanted to deny their existence, and a bra would be undeniable.

I remember the first time I wore a bra. I was humiliated. She had me wearing a tight yellow teeshirt. The family was going fishing. The bra was scratchy, tight, and left like torture. I was conscious of it every moment because I was so uncomfortable physically and emotionally.

My body wasn't mine. My mom owned me. I cried bitterly. It ruined my day--it ruined my week. I remember we compromised fifth or sixth grade. I wore undershirts instead of a bra, which she saw as a half-way solution.

I don't think I was embarassed or ashamed of my breasts, exactly, but more that I wanted to keep them private, which isn't possible. I've always been slow to get used to changes. And I think I needed some time alone with my breasts before presenting them to the world, which cannot be. And my mom's Catholic upbringing meant my ideas about sex were all bad.


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