I’d say I was about 12 when my friends started becoming obsessed with boobs. Not all of them, to be fair, but it certainly felt overwhelming.

My best friend at the time, specifically, was really fascinated by all things boob-related. All things happening to our changing bodies, really.

And I… wasn’t.

Now, when I think about that time, I feel like, given my own feelings about my breasts, I ought to have felt… angry? upset? I don’t know. Mostly I just felt confused. Not over the process – that I understood perfectly well. But over the idea that people were so excited over it. Was it something to be excited about? Was, as my friend said, the fact that, since my mom had “big boobs,” I would too, be something to celebrate, as she told me I should? I didn’t really see that.

It’s just another area in my life where I felt ambivalent about my own body – the story of my life. If I had boobs, I had them. It was just a reality, not something to be celebrated. Or mourned, for that matter.


Of course, if I’d known at the time what they’d eventually become, perhaps I would’ve mourned them after all.



Now I don’t want them. I’ve come, one might say, to a peaceful detente with them, but I don’t like them. I don’t want them. I’d happily have them gone. If I could snap my fingers and not have them anymore – no surgery, no complications – I’d do so in a heartbeat.

I mentioned this at work a few weeks ago, and I have to say, I was surprised by how surprised those sitting with me were. I don’t know why I was so surprised. I guess it makes sense. I guess some people really like having breasts? It’s one of those strange, nebulous ideas to me. That somebody should object to being rid of these large lumps they carry around on the front of their bodies.

But surprised they were, and I suppose that brought me to here, where I can recognize, even if I don’t understand, that how I feel about my breasts is not how other people feel about theirs.


Of course, all of this thinking is just that – thinking. It’s not as though anything will happen with them. Immediately, or even possibly down the road. Who can say? But there are reasons and complications I have to be hesitant around top surgery. And most days I’m okay with that. This is, after all, the only body I’ve known.

But some days I let myself dream.