dirty little secret
A few weeks ago I promised myself something for my birthday. I promised myself that I would go to Victoria's Secret and buy a new bra. But I am too scared to set foot in that place.
There is something powerful about the bra size. We are taught early on to value it's importance. We learn how important it is to boys, important to our self esteem, and important to our definition of ourselves as women. I have been the same bra size (except for pregnancy related changes) for all of my adult life. My magic number, my bra size is, was, 34C.
Pregnancy changes everything. Everything gets bigger and then gets smaller. If you are lucky, as I was, you find yourself back exactly where you started. You find yourself at the same weight that you were before getting pregnant. But nothing is really exactly the same again, is it? How can it be?
Even if my weight is the same, I look different. My stomach will never be flat again, not that it was before, but it certainly won't ever be in the future. There is some extra skin, a little reminder of where Indy grew inside of me. The details don't matter, but I am proportioned a bit differently than I use to be. Maybe no one would even notice, but I notice. There are some good changes too though. I have muscles in my arms for the first time in my life, from carrying the boy around so much when he was younger. And for a period of time, the boobs were gloriously bigger.
But not anymore. I like to try and trick myself into thinking they are the same as they use to be. I wear that same magical bra size, even buying more of them, convincing myself it is just the style of the bra that makes it seem too big. But I know the cold hard truth. I know what I will learn when I step foot into the store, that I once loved, and ask them to check my size. I know I will hear something that changes my view of myself. Changes my view of my body. I haven't been a 34B since high school, and I haven't been a 34A since puberty. But there are no other options. I am one or the other. And that is what the cute perky Victoria's Secret girl is going to tell me.
Please don't misunderstand me, great breasts come in every size. There is nothing wrong with being 34A or 34B or any, absolutely any, other size. Regardless of how you feel about your own breasts, your size, the size you are use to, is part of your view of yourself. It is part of your view of your body, your sexuality, and your feelings of worth as a woman. I still like my breasts, even with the changes in shape that pregnancy and breastfeeding have brought. But I really wasn't expecting to go down in size, and I have been in denial about it, shoving myself into bras that don't fit me, for far too long.
So maybe if I put this out there. Maybe if I tell everyone my dirty little secret, it will give me the courage I need to learn my true bra size and embrace the new me.
There is something powerful about the bra size. We are taught early on to value it's importance. We learn how important it is to boys, important to our self esteem, and important to our definition of ourselves as women. I have been the same bra size (except for pregnancy related changes) for all of my adult life. My magic number, my bra size is, was, 34C.
Pregnancy changes everything. Everything gets bigger and then gets smaller. If you are lucky, as I was, you find yourself back exactly where you started. You find yourself at the same weight that you were before getting pregnant. But nothing is really exactly the same again, is it? How can it be?
Even if my weight is the same, I look different. My stomach will never be flat again, not that it was before, but it certainly won't ever be in the future. There is some extra skin, a little reminder of where Indy grew inside of me. The details don't matter, but I am proportioned a bit differently than I use to be. Maybe no one would even notice, but I notice. There are some good changes too though. I have muscles in my arms for the first time in my life, from carrying the boy around so much when he was younger. And for a period of time, the boobs were gloriously bigger.
But not anymore. I like to try and trick myself into thinking they are the same as they use to be. I wear that same magical bra size, even buying more of them, convincing myself it is just the style of the bra that makes it seem too big. But I know the cold hard truth. I know what I will learn when I step foot into the store, that I once loved, and ask them to check my size. I know I will hear something that changes my view of myself. Changes my view of my body. I haven't been a 34B since high school, and I haven't been a 34A since puberty. But there are no other options. I am one or the other. And that is what the cute perky Victoria's Secret girl is going to tell me.
Please don't misunderstand me, great breasts come in every size. There is nothing wrong with being 34A or 34B or any, absolutely any, other size. Regardless of how you feel about your own breasts, your size, the size you are use to, is part of your view of yourself. It is part of your view of your body, your sexuality, and your feelings of worth as a woman. I still like my breasts, even with the changes in shape that pregnancy and breastfeeding have brought. But I really wasn't expecting to go down in size, and I have been in denial about it, shoving myself into bras that don't fit me, for far too long.
So maybe if I put this out there. Maybe if I tell everyone my dirty little secret, it will give me the courage I need to learn my true bra size and embrace the new me.