When I was 18 I had a breast reduction. Most peopleâs reaction upon learning this is something like, âOh, did you have bad back pain?â The answer is no. âBreastâ is singular when I say breast reduction. I had a breast reduction on one boob. One of my boobs was so much larger than the other that I got it reduced to make them the same size. Iâm not talking a one cup size difference; it was like a clementine and a large, genetically modified orange that you see at the grocery store and wonder how the fuck they grow an orange the size of a watermelon difference. They were the life of the party and the bane of my existence.
I had been praying for boobs pretty much my whole life. Everyone cool had themâmy babysitters, my older sister, Lindsay Lohan. Even my grandma had them. It felt like this exclusive club I wasnât allowed to be in. I did everything one possibly could to get boobs: pretty much nothing. I tried that exercise from Are You There God? Itâs Me, Margaret that Margaret and her friends do to increase their bust size, but it felt like an antiquated move. I went bra shopping with my friend who had really big boobs hoping they would rub off on me, and I imagined myself with boobs a lot. I wasnât like a pervy, tit-obsessed kid… just a normal tit-obsessed kid waiting for a day that I was convinced would never come.
At last, when I was 16 I got boobs. But when they came in it was like one came out to play and the other never got the memo to start growing. They were uneven from the start. My doctor said to just give the other more time to go, but as they grew bigger, they only grew more uneven.
I had a pair of mismatched boobs. It felt like either: a) My life was a teenage coming of age movie of which the clichĂŠ moral was âto be careful what you wish for,â or b) My prayers all of those years mustâve been unclear in some way, because here I was with one boob.
Fast forward through years of endless complaining to my mom, waiting for the other one to catch up like I was advised it surely would, nothing happening, and then somehow getting my parents to take this issue seriously enough to get me a consultation with a plastic surgeon.
It went as youâd probably imagine. After sitting in the waiting room for an hour, I was shown into a room to meet a creepy, old male doctor with bushy eyebrows who was nice but not nice enough to distract from the fact that he looks at boobs all day. (Side note, why are there so few female plastic surgeons when the vast majority of cosmetic procedures are performed on women?) He drew all over my chest with a sharpie, and called my breast a âmutation.â We decided on a date for surgery and that was that. I would go under the knife only a few weeks before leaving for college, and thankfully it was going to be covered by my insurance. Â Â
During the surgery they made three incisions: one in a long straight line along my underboob, another shorter straight line up to my nipple, and one cut around my nipple so that they could move it. Also, they lipo-sucked some of the breast tissue out via a tube in my side. The recovery was much worse than what anyone had warned me about. I spent my two weeks of mandatory bed-rest half conscious from pain killers, angry, and sad.
What did I just do to myself? I somehow hated my boob even more than before for of all the pain it was causing me and the thought of all of the ugly scars I would surely have. I hated that I needed my mom to change my bandages and help me shower. I hated how this was how I had to spend the last of my time I had at home before moving across the country to Arizona to start college. I wondered, did I just ruin my life? Questioning all of my decisions led me to have a full blown existential crisis and anxiety attack in my childhood bed.
But don’t worry reader, I am typing this today with amazing tits. Itâs been almost four years since my surgery and after some overdue personal growth, I can say that I love my surgery boob just as much as my other boob. However, surgery didnât immediately fix my problems and make me love my body like I thought it would. It took some time and I had to do some of the work myself. Undergoing the procedure helped change the way I thought about my body image, and eventually led me to embrace new elements of my femininity. My newfound body confidence complemented my pre-existing emotional confidence, allowing me to shine.Â
When I look at my boob in the mirror I donât feel regret anymore, Iâm like yes boob! Iâm proud of my decision to fix my boob and Iâm grateful for the privilege to be able to do so at a young age. Having this surgery helped me grow into the person I am todayâa person who doesnât totally hate their body, who thinks itâs actually kind of nice.
I wanted to give an honest, candid, and realistic description of my experience for anyone out there that may be thinking about having something done to their breasts, especially teens. Now, Iâm gonna hit you with some statistics: are you satisfied with your breasts? If the answer is no, youâre not alone. 70% of women say theyâre not satisfied with their breasts, whether itâs regarding shape, size, etc. Which is probably why a breast augmentation has remained the #1 most popular cosmetic surgery since 2001 (and possibly before).
If you have uneven breasts, donât worryâitâs normal. All breasts are different sizes, some more uneven than others. I didnât know this; I just thought that everyone was supposed to have huge, perky porn star tits and that I was a gross mistake. In reality, everyone has uneven breasts. So donât ever let an old, creepy doctor tell you that your body is mutated. Give your breasts time to even out because they generally donât stop growing until age 18, and will continue growing throughout your adult life, especially if you have kids.
My advice for anyone thinking about getting a boob job/breast reduction is: do it for YOU. Donât do it because your boyfriend, girlfriend, parents, or whoever makes comments about your breast size. Do it when youâre feeling emotionally stable, or whatever the closest thing to that looks like for you. If you schedule your procedure around a time of transition (i.e. going to college, starting a new job, moving, etc.) be aware of the emotional stamina this may require. Also be aware that the surgery wonât fix your problems or body issues, but rather give you the tools necessary to do so yourself. Your relationship with your body is not one you can ghost when it gets too clingy or says something weird; itâs a relationship you have to maintain for your whole life! Inevitably, so are our other crucial relationships, such as with our mental health and happiness. Itâs all connected, baby. So whatever you call themâbreasts, boobs, knockers, titties, your bumps, your humps, your lovely little lumpsâtake care of them.
And most importantly, you will need a support system. Though the boob jobs are so common it makes it seem like nothing, itâs a very serious surgery and you will need help. Plastic surgery isnât the answer for everyone, but it was the answer for me. The pain and existential crises were a small price to pay for my overall happiness, a price I would easily pay if I had to do it all again.