What My Teeny Breasts Taught Me About Loving My Body
Everyone has a body part they hate. Mine are my breasts. Like most 32As of the world, I've always been self-conscious about being flat. When I got to college, the whole situation turned into a crazy obsession: I was totally fixated on having bigger breasts.
Freshman year is tricky to navigate anyway, but in a quest to be the "hot" girl on campus (the one who every guy loves and every girl wants to be), I made it harder on myself by thinking I needed a bigger chest. In my mind, hot girls had big boobs and they were the girls who had more fun, went to more parties, and did cooler stuff than I did.
My friends didn't help the situation. Whenever I would complain to them about how I hated my breasts, they would say, "It's OK that you're flat, you have a good butt," or, "You're skinny, so it's fine that you have no boobs." I even had a friend once tell me that I would have had her "dream body" if my breasts were C cups instead of A. I know it wasn't coming from a malicious place, but all that weird body talk just solidified my need for bigger breasts.
Instead of enjoying myself at the bar or the beach or anywhere I felt like I had to look hot, I would be miserable comparing myself to other girls or feeling super envious of those with the coveted cleavage line (you know, when the boobs are perfectly pushed together).
On a mission for a bombshell body and big boobs, I wasted more time stuffing my bras with chicken cutlets, experimenting with weird breast growth pills, and wearing bras that were waaaaay more padded than I'd like to admit.
Every time I tried on an outfit I hated, I automatically blamed it on my small breasts. Every time a guy I liked didn't flirt with me at the bar, I assumed it was because I was flat-chested. Every time I looked bad in a Facebook pic, my first thought was that I would look hotter if I had some cleavage.
As a way to deal, I would dig through the Victoria's Secret sale bins and Marshall's lingerie racks trying to find the perfect fix. I spent so much money on miracle bras, padded inserts, and any other gimmicks promising a better chest that I would overdraft my bank account and have no money to go out with friends. This happened on a regular basis! I constantly felt bad about my appearance and I couldn't see that no material thing was going to fix that.
After several semesters trying to fake bigger breasts, I eventually became fed up with manipulating my breasts into something they weren't. The reality was that no matter how much I wanted to look like my C-cup roommate or that well-endowed chick across the bar, it just wasn't happening. I needed to make my small breasts work for me or I was going to go insane (and broke!).
I'm not going to lie and say I quit push-up bras, boob tape, and chicken cutlets cold turkey, but over time, I started to find different styles that made me feel sexier in other ways. Instead of trying to create body features I didn't have, I started focusing my look on other things I liked about my body. Turns out I love my toned arms and shoulders, so off-the-shoulder and backless styles have become my weekend go-tos. These days, I wear form-fitting bodysuits and skimpy bikini tops with confidence because my little breasts make them look hot. I can deal with my flatness because I've learned to make it work for me. You could even say that my lack of breasts has helped me create my personal style.
In the past, if someone described me as boyish or athletic I used to cringe. Now I own it. I'm never going to have sexy cleavage or be considered a bombshell, and that's OK - that's not me anyway. Beating yourself up over something physical just isn't worth it. When I think now about my ridiculously skewed visions of what hot was and that sexy was only one unattainable look, I can't help but laugh. Yes, the "hot" girls had fun, went to parties, and did cool things, but that had nothing to do with their breast size. And now, my little breasts now make me feel hot as hell.
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