And eventually, after a few years, I became a C-cup. It wasn't really attributed to weight gain, either. I started out as a 32A and suddenly was a 32B. I yelled to my roommate, "OMG, They jiggle! They jiggle while I jump!" Then I noticed that they were jiggling a little as I walked. I noticed a nice shadow effect happening at the top of my chest, a rounding out – something I had never seen before. I noticed little gaps between the buttons of my button-up shirts. Then one day, or gradually, things changed. In fact, sometimes I didn't even wear a bra! And then something great started to happen: I started to forget all about not having boobs. I didn't stress about wearing padded bras. So, I learned to take all the confidence I had and found a way to be fully happy with my body. But as tempting as it was, I knew I had to love me the way I was. Even though I wanted boobs so badly, I just never saw that as an option for me. That I would be 'sexier' or more 'womanly.' But as tempting as it was, I knew I had to love me the way I was. There was this idea that surgery would 'complete' my body somehow. Sometimes, people would suggest I get a boob job.
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I learned how to accentuate my other physical attributes. I had nice eyes and hair, and I had a great butt – but I still wished I had boobs. I figured I should make fun of myself, rather than feeling sorry about something that I had literally no control over.īut by the time I started college, I was actively trying to come to terms with my little knockers. I would make jokes about my flat chest, putting balloons up my shirt during sleepovers to make my friends laugh. They'd say things like, "I can't run, it huuuurts!" I wanted to know that feeling! (It also sounded like a great excuse to get out of gym). Even complaints like, "I can't sleep on my stomach anymore…" and "He wouldn't stop staring at my boobs" made me – you guessed it – want boobs. I looked much younger – especially physically. Every time I complained, my grandma would remind me, "Mine never came in until I was in my 30s." Well, her chest was huge, so I had to have hope, right?Īs time went on, I remained confident but still a bit envious, feeling left out whenever my friends were having conversations that I couldn't be a part of. I sure as hell didn't look like most of them.
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Also, I couldn't escape the pressure I felt from seeing other teenage girls in magazines, TV shows and movies. While in high school, I realized quickly how flat I was in comparison to my girlfriends. I used to wish on every star I saw in the sky that I would be blessed with an ample chest, that I could fill out a shirt without two spare pieces of fabric hanging over where my breasts were meant to be. I wanted boobs so badly that I started referring to them as my "hope chest," because I thought if I hoped hard enough they would suddenly just blossom. All I wanted was my very own set of breasts. I think I believed that a bra would magically make my boobs suddenly appear – and that I would finally be a woman.
She gave it to me on my birthday, when I definitely didn't need a bra. My great aunt bought me my first bra when I was 11.
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