These Boobs Are... a Sensitive Subject

These Boobs Are... a Sensitive Subject

Aug 16, '214 comments

When I set out to write this I thought it would be easy. Now, as I sit down to my fourth attempt I realise the impact my boobs have had on my life. Do I write about the delay in growth then the sudden burst of growth made me go from a flat chested mockery to a sex object practically over night? Do I write about embarrassing hoops I had to squeeze my tits through to attempt to get a breast reduction on the NHS only to be told they are ‘not quite big enough’, then to be told that they do take into account enhanced breasts when doing data, not natural so the statistics are effectively irrelevant? Do I speak about the uncountable times I have been verbally and physically sexually assaulted in the street - in the day walking to work - even in a big coat, purely because my boobs are so vast? Do I speak about the unbound joy of finally being able to breast

Annie is laid breastfeeding her new born on the bed

feed my baby after weeks of misinformation on pain - and the equally bright joy of my second child latching on as they were still shoving my innards back inside from my c section (then not letting go for over 3 years)? Do I talk about the repeated sexual abuse from just trying to wear summer clothes in summer? or the gift of the ability to make my loved ones laugh at even the darkest of times purely because my pendulous bosoms do just look utterly hilarious? Do I speak about how my daughters fear having boobs because they have witnessed all of this? It is tough. I realised the sensitivity of my boobs opens a door that I didn’t realise was there in my head, and my heart. I have decided to split it into two.

I have extremely big boobs. My back is tiny but my boobs just didn’t stop grown - even as my weight fluctuated I was always known as Annie with the massive tits. From the second they sprouted, all of a sudden and all covered in sore, deep stretch marks like I’d been in a brawl with a badger; they were no longer mine. Men I knew and men I didn’t had the right to comment, shout, touch, grope, judge, sneer and utterly humiliate my boobs. No one defended me, I learned these boobs were not mine and they all had a right to do what they wanted with them. I learned that no time of day, garment of clothing, or place was safe. The fact I had to always wear two or three bras made it harder for them to pull off my top and laugh at them, like a literal boogie trap. The weeping ulcers which were constantly infected made them recoil and become angry that this large titted advertisement was not the same as the bouncing silicone promises of the pornos they’d had on a loop since they were 12. Sorry old chap but me wearing a mask does not prevent my vision - I can still see you penetrating my cleavage with your beady eyes. If I didn’t want men to shout about them or stick their hands up my top then why was I putting them out there - on the front of my body all the time?? It was my fault. I was a cock tease for existing and I was a fraud because they didn’t look right and I “should have surgery.” and frigid for pushing them away, even at 11.

Annie is in her pyjamas and her top is caught by her boob

The ability to be able to make people laugh is a true gift, if I can make my loved ones laugh, it works like medicine for me; even when I am drowning, all I need is an hour of laughter with true friends. There is nothing in the world that cannot be fixed with an inappropriate guffaw until you wee a little bit. The bonus of having these wind sock flappers norks is that they are funny. The joy of drawing a sketch of my boobs windmilling around or getting caught in a passing car purely to make a pal laugh immeasurable. Or a photo of my naturally ankle grazing tits consuming my pyjama top when I wake up to send to a friend when they are having a bad day is just the gift that keeps giving. A shot of my milk obsessed monster clawing at my body in the dark capturing the true imagery of breast feeding to help other mums and - also - just make my loved ones laugh - that is just brilliant. It is funny, but it is MY joke, I am not A joke.

The truth is the abuse has resulted in me no longer wanting any intimacy, the connection of 39 years of abuse makes it impossible despite the therapy, the constant abuse has left its mark, primarily because it’s not stopping. I have been single by choice as I cannot disconnect and I don’t know how to stop the abuse in the street. The only control I can have is to retire from intimacy. So I am happy for them to be a joke and a continuing source of safety and warmth for my daughters because I have no choice - they were never my boobs to begin with were they?

Annie is laid on the bed with a toddler on top of her who has their hand in her mouth

Comments (4)

Cate on Sep 16, '21

This post, and the comments under it, is the first time I’ve ever felt understood in my entire life.
I don’t want to hate my body the way I do, but my brain associates my bustline with literally nothing but negative things. My boobs make me an object, and efforts to minimise them (I do have a binder as well as a couple of bras that work… okish for this) are often uncomfortable. I’m supposedly being referred to be seen by the NHS team to be assessed for a reduction (34GG/H) but seeing the above Im not hopeful honestly.

Anyway this wasn’t a comment to moan- just to say that I switched to using a silver-based deoderant (Nuud) 2 years ago and have found that it has massively helped/mostly eliminated a lot of the rashes etc I used to get under my bust (but ‘ve also used the pandemic to move away from underwires because I don’t have to worry about movement so this may be part of it too).

Feeling for all my fellow folks on this thread honestly. You’re seen, and you’re valid.

xx

PaulineL on Sep 8, '21

Just read your post and for the first time in my life felt that someone else actually ‘gets it’ , thank you so much for putting it out here in public.
Being very tiny but having oversized boobs has been a living nightmare right from the start. Even my parents blamed me for the attention they got (which mortified me) when I was a young teen. Never enjoyed clothes because it was always about covering up, making them less noticeable.
They weren’t even huge back then, B-cup! but because I was so tiny, and because of their shape, they attracted attention. Men leered, one work colleague used to speak to them, not me, until I told him they wouldn’t talk back. I didn’t dare wear low tops because being so tiny, men didn’t even have to lean to look down my top.
From an early age, men thought I was available, they used to physically pick me up and I developed a defensive attitude, determined that no-one would mess with me.

I did marry someone who treated me well and didn’t see me as a Barbie doll – yes that’s what men used to tell me! but after having my children, each time, the boobs grew when I was pregnant and when the milk came in. The first time, I went from a B/C cup to a GG – overnight ! the pain was indescribable, the nurses thought it hilarious. I was told they would go back down after breastfeeding – not a chance. So young mum with baby and still being hit on, leered at and cat-called.

I tried to get a reduction, I knew people with smaller breasts who had had one, but the GP just told me I was lucky to have them. It had been a difficult thing to even talk about and I never went back. Stuck with them now and still struggling with them.

I did manage to find what worked for the under boob rash/skin break down which is so painful.
A few drops each of Tea Tree and Lavender essential oils in a bottle of baby oil applied to dried skin after the morning shower. It helps with the sweating and skin break down and as long as I don’t forget to use it, the skin stays healthy. It also helped with the boils I used to get that were so painful. Luckily, menopause has meant that no longer troubles me, something I’m very grateful for.

I put it here in the hope that it may help someone else who is struggling with over sized breasts. Just check that you aren’t allergic to Tea Tree or Lavender oils. And keep them away from children.

Again, thank you for putting your experience online, knowing that others have a similar experience helps enormously and I hope that hearing others’ experiences helps you too. Much love
PaulineL

Amy Collins on Aug 16, '21

Thank you for sharing. It sounded so familiar. I’m constantly battling so much of what you said and trying to balance it with ‘I should feel lucky’… Even though I have no answers or clever words of support I was really supported to know I’m not the only one who has had this experience.

CK Shuker on Aug 16, '21

Wow! This massively resonated with me. I have been there. I’m 48 now but I’m my teens and early 20s my boobs were seemingly everyone’s property but my own. Everyone’s to comment on, or make a grab for or make a joke about. It hurt. Alot. Eventually, after a long time of putting up with it I began to get gobby back. Gobby and sweary. I gave as good as I got. And still do, if I have to, which comes as a surprise to some as I’m a fairly quiet and sometimes shy person.
I still don’t like my boobs but I own them now and woebetide anyone who tries to make fun or comment, particularly random strangers.
I think you’re so brave for putting your story out there and your Molke modelling pics are gorgeous, sexy and fierce. Much love to you. Xx

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