I am a downright flat-chested girl who really has zero blessing in her chest department. You know those kinds of girls who call themselves flat just because they are an A cup? Well, I can’t even remember that last time I could fully fill up an A cup bra. On top of that, I can confidently assure you that there are less than five people who are flatter than or as flat as I am among all the people that I know.
That, my friend, is how flat-chested I am. (Pardon the lurid details, just feeling the need to put things into perspective over here.)
I know I sound super nonchalant and indeed, I am completely at ease with my flat-chestedness now. On the days of soaring self-esteem, I even don tops and dresses that accentuate my flat chest.
But it wasn’t always the case. It took me my entire teenager years and a few more of my early adult years (and a lot of mocking, late-night crying, and hiding) to truly come to terms with my boobs. Or lack thereof.
Ironically, I was the first among my friends to start developing some boobs when puberty hit us in our adolescent days. So yea, I was actually “the girl with boobs” for a short period of time. Can you believe that, my goodness?! But of course, the girls quickly got their turn and before long, everyone was filling out the front of their tops while mine was still barely emerging at all.
For the next few years, it was the most difficult period for me to accept my body. Just thinking back makes me want to go bear hug my younger self tight. Being a teenager is about trying to find our own skin, and other people’s affirmation or mockery often find their way into the foundation of one’s self-esteem. I had a fair share of mean girls and boys teasing and mocking me about my small boobs throughout the years. Sometimes it’s a blatantly rude remark thrown in my face. Sometimes it’s a quick mention under the disguise of a “harmless joke.” Regardless of which, it all hurt me the same. I felt inferior to be around girls with nice boobs; and I felt undesired in front of the guys I liked.
I tried all sorts of “boobs-enhancing” remedies—from food, to supplements, to massages, and when all failed me, I turned to those heavily-padded pushup bras. And if anyone has tried them, you would know they are uncomfortable as hell. But the bras could only disguise so much. I felt extremely conscious of my small boobs during sex, and most of the time, I could only focus and think about how “ugly” I looked from my lover’s point of view. It was all super tense and stressful for me and for a while, I hated sex because of it.
I don’t think there is any specific incident that flipped my perception of my body and made me accept my small boobs. But I think the start of the whole change was ignited by me witnessing a close friend undergoing a boob job. Before the operation, she had shared on many occasions how her esteem was utterly wrecked because of her flat-chest and really couldn’t carry on living like that anymore. She had a successful operation, and I really see her esteem blossomed after that. Maybe for some, witnessing something like that might propel them to follow suit, but for reasons I can’t really pinpoint, it did the opposite for me.
Maybe I saw my reflection in her—how we both had based our self-esteem solely on a superficial standard that society has imposed onto us, and how we thought only by inching ourselves closer to that standard could we attain happiness and satisfaction with our own bodies. In fact, I do think my friend became happier with herself after the breast enhancement operation (at least it seems so to me). But exactly by seeing this change in her made me ponder what was the point of all these. Why did I beat myself up so bad through all these years just over an arbitrary standard? And the standard is not even absolute—one can undergo a boob job to get a B cup, but there is always C/D/E/F cups out there making her feel inadequate again. How can this beauty judgment on woman’s boob size be valid when if, the same is apply to skin color—say from now on, only brown skin is considered beautiful—it is just be downright absurd?
From then on, I consciously start to see my body in a new light and with the kind of ease and insight that can only come from age, I have learnt to accept my flat-chestedness. It was a long journey for me. I just hope girls out there could find the ease in their bodies. Because really, it’s solely entirely yours and no one else should have a say in how it should look to please themselves.
About the Creator
Judy Mae
I put words on the internet.
Thank You Female Product Companies For Normalizing Human
I was born in 1990. In May, smack dab early mid-year. I am quite LITERALLY the definition of a '90's' kid. I don't remember a lot of commercials from when I was younger, but I do know that growing up women in media were photoshopped, sculpted, and molded to be Barbie perfect.
By Hope Martin10 days ago in Viva
The Enternal echoes of memory ..
In a small university town, nestled amidst towering oaks and cobblestone streets, there existed a quaint coffee shop called "Eternal Brews." It was a place where time seemed to stand still, where the aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the scent of old books. Within its cozy confines, the coffee shop played host to an intriguing event – a viva session on the topic of memory.As the participants gathered around the worn wooden tables, anticipation hung in the air like a delicate mist. Dr. Sophia, the esteemed moderator of the session, welcomed everyone with a warm smile. Among the attendees was Professor Alan, a renowned neuroscientist, and Dr. Elena, a psychologist with a passion for the human mind.The conversation began with Professor Alan's opening remarks, delving into the intricate workings of memory. He spoke of neurons firing like stars in the night sky, weaving intricate patterns of recollection that shaped our understanding of the world. He posited that memory was more than mere recall; it was the essence of our existence, the thread that connected past, present, and future.Dr. Elena, with her insightful gaze, offered a different perspective. She delved into the realm of emotions, exploring how memory was intertwined with feelings of joy, sorrow, and nostalgia. She recounted tales of patients whose memories had been fractured by trauma, yet who still clung to the fragments of their past like precious heirlooms.As the discussion unfolded, the participants shared their own experiences with memory. Sarah, a literature enthusiast, spoke of how books had the power to preserve moments in time, allowing readers to revisit distant lands and bygone eras with each turn of the page. James, a musician, recounted how melodies from his childhood echoed in his mind like distant whispers, carrying him back to a time when life was simpler and dreams were boundless.But amidst the tales of nostalgia and longing, there lingered a question – did memory truly last forever? Dr. Sophia, ever the voice of reason, posed this query to the group, sparking a spirited debate.Professor Alan argued that while memories might fade with time, their essence endured, like faded photographs hidden in the recesses of the mind. He spoke of the brain's remarkable ability to adapt and rewire itself, forging new connections even as old ones faded into obscurity.Dr. Elena, however, offered a more somber perspective. She spoke of how memories could be distorted by time and perception, their once-vivid colors muted by the passage of years. She recounted studies that showed how eyewitness testimonies could be flawed, leading to wrongful convictions and shattered lives.As the debate raged on, a hush fell over the coffee shop, as if the very walls were listening intently to the words being spoken. And then, in the midst of the discourse, a voice spoke up – soft yet resolute.It was Emily, a young woman with a gentle smile and eyes that sparkled with wisdom beyond her years. She recounted a tale from her own life, of a beloved grandmother who had passed away many years ago. Despite the passage of time, Emily spoke of how her grandmother's presence still lingered, woven into the fabric of her memories like a timeless tapestry.In that moment, the truth became clear – memory was not bound by the constraints of time or space. It was a living, breathing entity, shaped by the experiences and emotions that defined us as individuals. And while the sands of time might erode its edges, the essence of memory would endure, forever etched in the annals of our souls.As the viva session drew to a close, the participants exchanged knowing glances, their hearts and minds forever changed by the journey they had undertaken. For in the quiet corners of "Eternal Brews," amidst the scent of coffee and the rustle of pages, they had discovered the eternal echoes of memory – a reminder that even in the darkest of nights, there was always a glimmer of light, waiting to guide us home.
By Eric anexis 6 days ago in Viva
Disarmament
They say there's no atheism in the foxhole. While I wasn't currently neck-deep in a river of soft sediment, I was still praying to whoever would listen. Why am I doing this again? I would ponder while staring at the device that in no less than a minute could be my undoing. I scanned each and every variable panel and commonplace button as I watched the bright red L.E.D ticker countdown. No wires to cut, no code to put in, there was only one way to stop this infernal machine, and that incurred perfect timing.
By James U. Rizzi3 days ago in Fiction
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