Sometimes it takes getting cancer, to discover that your breasts don't belong to you. That they never did. That they're politically and sexually-charged lightening rods, dominated by public discourse. That every single human-being, on earth, has an opinion on their purpose, their appearance and their relevance. But I'm done.
Today, I'm reclaiming my breasts.
I'm a feminist, but my breasts do not belong to my sisters in the resistance.
I've nursed my baby, but my breasts do not belong to the pro-breastfeeding movement.
I've been leered at, but my breasts do not belong to the misogynist male gaze.
I belong with my husband, but by breasts aren't his to own.
Yesterday, I decided that I want to have breast reconstruction, after my mastectomy. It's a long, brutal surgery, with an arduous and painful recovery. It's a hard choice, but, again, the right choice for me.
I'm not doing it for my sisters, my son, my partner, or the man on the street.
I'm doing it because I love my breasts. Because I like their shape and feeling and meaning. And at the end of it all, I'll get fabulous, forward-facing breasts, that no longer stare at my toes.
So, today, I've officially reclaimed my breasts.
I LOVE this! No one really understands until they have to go through this themselves. A male friend asked me recently why I was willing to go through all the pain and recovery to have breasts. The short answer is "because I like my boobs. They make me happy." No other reason need be given.
ReplyDelete