A Life Less Busty
So it's been a week since the Great Cut- I'm no longer a zaftig FF-cup wonder. I'm not quite sure what size I am, swelling being what it is, but I'm much, much smaller. My San Francisco friends will understand this part well; I dressed yesterday in black button-front shirt and black pants, and looking in the mirror, presented much more androgynous than I ever have. And it didn't bother me- I thought it was cool.
Being defined by any physical trait is a double-edged sword. It gives you a touchstone for identity, but it also makes you paranoid about who you are without it. Many people will tell you that, up until the moment they knocked me out (probably to keep me from yammering about my doubts), I was not sure I could go through with the reduction. I mean, who would I be? Would I have a problem not busting out all over?
It didn't help that most people reacted like I was going insane. Men literally mourned the upcoming loss of The Girls; women asked for me to transplant some of my excess to them. I wondered if this was really a necessary surgery, or was I just being vain?
One week later, I still can't answer questions about whether it was worth it. I am smaller, but still sore and drugged and generally useless in the upper body area. I pride myself on being generally productive with bouts of laziness, and this is the reverse. I spend more time asleep and watching judge shows than anyone ever should. But I'm enjoying the opportunity to break out of one more stereotype I hold for myself. I have always been "the smart girl;" "the busty girl;" "the girl with glasses," etc. If I'm not that girl anymore, there's a clear new space to play in, and from the tone of my last few posts, I seem to desperately need to break out and do a new thing.
Today I have my stitches removed, and the drains come out (this surgery ain't all glamourous). I hope to gain more range of motion soon, and I hope to be able to stop sleeping while sitting up. And I'll continue to keep you updated on how a life less busty goes. I'm looking forward to the journey.
Being defined by any physical trait is a double-edged sword. It gives you a touchstone for identity, but it also makes you paranoid about who you are without it. Many people will tell you that, up until the moment they knocked me out (probably to keep me from yammering about my doubts), I was not sure I could go through with the reduction. I mean, who would I be? Would I have a problem not busting out all over?
It didn't help that most people reacted like I was going insane. Men literally mourned the upcoming loss of The Girls; women asked for me to transplant some of my excess to them. I wondered if this was really a necessary surgery, or was I just being vain?
One week later, I still can't answer questions about whether it was worth it. I am smaller, but still sore and drugged and generally useless in the upper body area. I pride myself on being generally productive with bouts of laziness, and this is the reverse. I spend more time asleep and watching judge shows than anyone ever should. But I'm enjoying the opportunity to break out of one more stereotype I hold for myself. I have always been "the smart girl;" "the busty girl;" "the girl with glasses," etc. If I'm not that girl anymore, there's a clear new space to play in, and from the tone of my last few posts, I seem to desperately need to break out and do a new thing.
Today I have my stitches removed, and the drains come out (this surgery ain't all glamourous). I hope to gain more range of motion soon, and I hope to be able to stop sleeping while sitting up. And I'll continue to keep you updated on how a life less busty goes. I'm looking forward to the journey.