An Open Letter to My Breasts Before They Go to Die

Two days before my surgery I decided to write a letter to my breasts. I was advised to do this, but, it felt super weird to do this, and a little shameful. But, the reality is, I was not going to have breasts or another time to say goodbye. So, I thought, what the hell!

An open letter to my breasts before they go to die...

September 13, 2022

To my 32Bs:

I never had to say goodbye to a body part before–well, I mean, I guess my tonsils came out once, but I never really felt attached to them in any way.

Our society is very weird when it comes to breasts. They are sold to us as these extremely sexual objects that men wanted. And if you wanted men to love you, you MUST have large boobs.

In my 6th-grade year, everyone seemed to be growing huge boobs, in my 12-year-old eyes. My chest was just beginning to “bud”. I wasn’t overly concerned, but a group of girls, who posed as my friends for a long time, began calling me, "Olive Oil". I was long and lanky, with really no boobs. It was an incredibly painful time for me. It hurt to be made fun of, especially over something I couldn’t control.

I remember stuffing my bra a little, in hopes to blend in. I am sure they took note. I am sure they made fun of me. There was a note passed around the class one day and it was caught. The girls were making fun of me. Though, I was a victim and didn’t know about the note, my teacher, who favored them, thought I was trouble. She sent me to the principal’s office WITH them. I was absolutely modified beyond words.

Stupid boobs. Those moments in 6th grade set a precedent of being constantly disappointed by my body. I would make up for this flaw by ensuring I did everything possible to create the flattest stomach I could. Gwen Staffani and Alliyah became idols to me (strong, sexy–and small-busted women). No one would make fun of me if I looked like them.

I was so ashamed of my small chest I once apologized to a senior guy who decided to grope me as a freshman, for being so small. He sexually assaulted me. I froze and apologized to HIM!

Our culture has fucked us. I wonder if my 6th-grade “friends” would have had access to better images themselves and seen beauty standards differently, I would have been just a little less ashamed. Would I have felt so bad about my body? Because you know they did because they were 100 percent projecting onto me. As for body shaming, there was plenty, not limited to my boobs.

I have had clients, friends, boyfriends, and even an ex-boyfriend’s girlfriend comment on how small my boobs are. I never felt my boobs had any sort of sex appeal. They were just always a source of shame–until my daughter.

I had this beautiful and happy baby in 2005. I chose to breastfeed her for about 9 months. The body part I felt so much shame for, I was now using to feed my baby. Still, the shame appeared. I often had to leave conversations and social events, and my seat at restaurants to hide while I fed my child. I hadn’t seen another way, and I was not confident. At that time, I was very worried about what others would think or if I would make others uncomfortable. Despite all this, while nursing her, I got to admire her sweet face, and have these quiet moments just with her. Though, sometimes those moments were on toilet seats while my arms quivered holding her with no armrests, and my arms covered in sweat. If Olive Oil wasn’t a part of my story, would I have done this?

As I got into my 30s, I really learned to enjoy my size out of practicality. I ran and I was in close contact with people at work. It's always awkward when I misguide my body a little too close to someone in my chair, but I didn’t have to worry about accidentally rubbing my boobs on anyone.

I became concerned with how my chest bounced as I ran. I would try to mask it when I would see a truck driving by on the busy street near my home, assuming the truck was driven by a man who was eyeing me. Another conditioned response…

The knee-jerk of a breast cancer patient, including myself, is to get rid of the breasts as soon as you get the diagnosis! A “ticking time bomb strapped to my chest”. I didn’t think about what exactly this surgery is. I said I wouldn’t replace them. But, surgery was not the first step in the plan, chemo was. I always knew it was the second step, even before chemo started. I tried not to think about it much.

I tried to really consider getting reconstruction, but it was too scary, too painful, and took too damn long to get through the entire process. If you know my at all, you know, if I can’t have it my way, I won’t do it the majority of the time.

My body will look like it's missing something–because it is. Cancer attacked and it isn’t fair. I shouldn’t be missing any piece of my body without a total desire to lose that part. And, I don’t want to lose my breasts, not really.

I have to learn to live without breasts. It is a physical reminder of how I am strong. I desire life. MY life. My life is changing, and this is another piece of it. I will be sensitive to all the glances at my chest for a long time, maybe forever.

It’s a very strange thought to go against every beauty standard out there. I am sad. I am confused. I am scared. I am so unsure.

I know when I meet someone, I don’t instantly notice their chest size, and I know it doesn’t change how I feel about them. I also know, especially now, the people who love me and they will continue to do so. I am not sure why living without breasts is so scary. Is it the unknown? Is it triggering to the past? No one is going to call me Olive Oil now–are they?

I should feel grateful. I should feel happy. But I am so confused and angry I have to even be put in this position. Tomorrow is the last day I wear a normal bra, and that’s a weird thought.

I am sorry I never appreciated my body. I regret not defending my body and allowing others to abuse it. I hate it has taken such a trauma to make me embrace my body for what it is, and be grateful for all it has done for me as a whole.

As I am granted a new life, I will learn to love this body as is, slightly used and worn. It won’t be easy, nor fun for a while. But, unlike when I was 12, I have the tools and the confidence to get through the hard stuff.

I love my body now, and I will love it again after I complete this battle. But, of course, I get a new body. Through all this, I have a new mind and a new soul, so of course I will get a new body. And this time, no one is going to harm it, not even me.

Love,

Olive Oil