The Breast You Can Be

     

In which I describe my kinship with Kim Possible('s breasts).

   Yeah, yeah. I love dopey puns and abuse them shamelessly, hence the horrific title of this post. But I will not be  embarrassed, much like I refuse to be embarrassed of my breasts! (note: I also shamelessly abuse parallelisms).
        Anyway, this week I came upon Medicinal Marzipan's Teen Week, which is all about people's struggles to make sense of the fleshy masses that are/were their teen selves. Having recently experienced the nightmarish social milieu of teenagedom, and being still as hairy, horny, and confused as ever, I felt like I could contribute.
       So I wrote something. Something that will hopefully raise my blog slightly up from the depths of depravity in which you perceive it. Because I want this blog to be about sexuality, but I also want it to be about empowerment. And that starts with the little things, like self-confidence. And my breasts.
        Here goes! My spiel on another sort of self-love:

            When I was a young teen, I was relatively comfortable with myself --- so long as I didn’t look in the mirror for too long. I could deal with my legs, I could bear my stomach. I could even handle my nose even though my classmate had mentioned that it looked like an “upside-down kite” while sketching me in art class. Yeah, the description “upside-down kite” made me insecure.

            Most of all, though, I was insecure about my breasts. Everyone else’s seemed to take on a plump perfection whenever I compared them to mine --- small handfuls, fleshy nipples. Mine seemed pointy and protrusive. I felt like a surfboard wearing a cone bra.

            One day in middle school, I was in my art class painting a lumpy papier-mâché mini-me when the teacher called for clean up. We all washed off, scuttling past each other lest we take too long and miss the first precious seconds of recess. Kids tore off their smocks and scurried into their seats so we’d get off on good behavior. I wandered back to my chair last and quickly pulled my smock, an oversized T-shirt, off.

            My tank top went with it. Seeing as my breasts didn’t need it then, I wasn’t wearing a bra. Girls yelped. Boys shielded their eyes (I wasn’t too popular with the menfolk back then).

            Me? I laughed. I quickly yanked my tank-top down and giggled my way out the door as the lunch bell resonated in the classroom. My friend, who was also in the class, ran up to me wide-eyed. She exclaimed that I was really brave, that she would have just started bawling in embarrassment.

            To this day, I don’t know why I didn’t cry. I was so ashamed of my breasts back then that I could hardly look at them, let alone present them to a group of my peers. But I think that my little impromptu exhibitionism helped me discover a key to confidence.      

Honestly, I still look in the mirror sometimes and sigh, “upside-down kite.” Insecurities are engraved into us for ages --- they’re irrational, silly, and yet they nag at us like that one mole you’re sure is huge although nobody notices. But rather than picking ourselves apart, we need to flash and laugh. In that embarrassing second of my existence, I knew that I was me, organic and natural and pure. I couldn’t change it --- so I might as well have laughed. 

Sometimes, you don’t need to stand in front of the mirror and compose eulogies to your body parts to garner confidence. Sometimes it’s better to pop in front of it, make a funny face, do a shimmy, and walk away. You are you, lovely and smart and funny and raw. Worry less about why nipples like yours can't be found in your brother's playboy stash.

Instead of wondering whether people like you or not, flash the world a smile. Because you are you, and you can’t be anybody else. So you may as well love it, or you'll be left in tears. And that would be a shame--- you are so beautiful when you laugh!