They’re Just Tits!

I’ve had a hang up about my body for as long as I can remember.

I was 11 when I first developed breasts. I’m sure you’ll agree that is far too young to be sexualised. Well, such is the nature of having breasts.

Even more so when they didn’t stop growing. Ever.

So, for as long as I can remember I’ve had to contend with unsolicited comments, from teachers, from family, from friends and from complete strangers.

Lots of “Oh my gosh! How big are they?”, “Can’t you cover up?”, “What size are you ?”, “Can I touch them?” That last little jewel is a common reaction from drunk, well meaning women in club bathrooms.

Understandably, I’ve developed quite the complex.

It was a flaw I wanted to desperately to hide, but having absolutely no way of doing so.
Let me explain the struggle. If I wear a turtle neck they look enormous, like massive balloons strapped to my chest. If I wear a t-shirt it clings to me like glad wrap. If I wear a baggy top it hangs off me from the top and makes me look bigger than I am. And if I wear a singlet, I spend all my time pulling up the front and pushing the ladies back into their assigned seats by readjusting my bra.

Let me tell you, I have done it all.

I have starved myself hoping that weight loss would magically deflate my ‘fun bags‘. I have taken all manner of pharmaceutical miracle cures, pills, creams and shakes. I have bound them with both bandages and medical tape. And sadly, I have seriously looked into reduction surgery.

But I have come to find that there are no winners in this game.

I recently had a bouncer ask me to “do up the buttons on my shirt.” because I was ‘distracting‘ him from his job. I felt humiliated and in that moment I wanted the earth to swallow me up because doing up my top was not an option. I couldn’t.1044470_982393728517740_5281082932073512334_n

My sister and I have a similar body shape. She too has felt the same but carried it better than I.

Last summer she was approached by a stranger while she was in her car breastfeeding
her newborn. He had to cross the parking lot, tap on the window and wait for her to wind it down, only for him to then rudely shout, ‘cover up!’. She cried.

Now I want to know, what is the big fucking deal?

Your mother has them, your sister has them, your wife has them. Society has sexualised our bodies. Can we not get our minds out of the gutter?

For the simple fact that genetics has both gifted and cursed me, I’m to never wear a backless dress, I’ll always look pornish in a swimsuit, and going braless anywhere is simply not a possibility.  Should I simply accept that anybody at any time may comment on my breasts and that I should be gracious and jovial about it.

Well,  I say fuck that!

As women we need to strengthen our voices and agree that we’ll never be runway material, it doesn’t matter how many cellulite creams you use, it doesn’t matter how many stretch marks you have  or how many donuts you ate today. Your body has every right to be just as it is.

No more and no less.

We have to decide that we have a right to our bodies. We have a right to respect and dignity. We have a right to define ourselves and express our sexuality however we like without fear or judgement.

I can’t change society’s views about big tits, I can’t stop people from looking, but I can promise other women that I’ll be respectful of their bodies and their right to self expression.

After all, they’re just tits. 

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