More “Save The Women” Less “Save The Tits”
Womanhood comes with some hefty standards. But what happens when you build your entire identity on that bullshit? What happens when what you consider beautiful is yanked away and then there is a whole month highlighting the "beauty in it"? I think we should maybe be focusing on the women with breast cancer as people rather than worrying about saving their tits.
When I was married, I spent a vast amount of my time working to look a certain way, while working, raising the kids, and keeping the house. He spent even longer explaining how I was supposed to look, dress, and behave in order to meet those lofty expectations, and through all of this, I was raising children to accept this as normal. The focus was always on what role I played for other people. Was I a good mother? Did I look like a good wife? I had this wild list of needs I was expected to fulfill. After years of unhappy marriage, two kids, and some photographic evidence that "my boobs were completely deflated", I booked a boob job in order to check a few of those “required boxes”.
Fun Fact: I was 2 weeks post-op here, the thinnest I’ve ever been, and absolutely fucking miserable with my life.
I was in the best shape of my life, with a killer rack, perfectly highlighted hair and children old enough to leave with a babysitter. I was a freaking catch.
But after a $10,000 build-your-boobs experience, I still hated my life and my marriage still ended. I didn't measure up to the standards he had for a "wife" and I honestly realized he didn’t measure up to my standards either.
Once my marriage ended, I was left holding my 2 children and a hefty bill from the surgeon. I had to drastically reevaluate what the hell I was doing. I was going to build a life that would set an example for how I wanted my kids to live, and how could I tell my teenage daughter to be confident while I was just a pretty shell?
I've spent the few years since finding my confidence, investing in counseling and building relationships that are less focused on the physical.
And then I got a disease that dared to call bullshit on all those insecurities that festered in my marriage and then throughout my divorce.
Despite being in a supportive relationship now, I still catch myself falling into old habits. Selling myself the narrative that my now partner fell in love with my long blond hair and perfect boobs. And yet, when pregnancy added a few pounds he didn’t flinch to hold me, when breast cancer came for my blond locks, he helped shave them off. And when I finally looked at my bald, tired, sick self in the mirror, I found I actually loved her.
I wish it didn't take years of destructive criticism, body changing surgery, divorce and now a critical illness to show me that I'm worth loving, but the lesson still holds value. I too still hold value, though not because I'm someone's mother, or wife, but because I am simply someone. Breast Cancer Awareness Month puts so much focus on saving women based on the roles we play in other peoples lives, but the reality is, we’re worth saving even if we aren’t a mother, a wife, a sister.
Being able to now look myself in the mirror, flaws and all, bald or blond, pushing double Ds or flat as a board, and still love the life I'm in, is well worth more than a few rounds of chemo.
