Around age 10 I began to warm up to the idea of having them. I was actually a bit worried about what I would do if they never came. But being the resourceful kid that was, I had a backup plan. A bicycle pump. Just hook that thing up to my nipples and I would be all set. It worked for Dolly Parton, it would work for me.
I think I scared them, back when I was five. It took a long for them to make an appearance and when they did, it wasn’t much of one. By the time a reached high school, it seemed that my fate had been decided. I was going to be a small-chested woman for the rest of my life. Nothing I could do about it. You get what you get. It’s not the end of the world right? I mean, how bad could it be? Very bad….especially for a 15 year old girl.
During my first year of high school, I was teased constantly by a group of boys. They teased me about anything and everything. What I remember most, was comments about my breast size. They called me 2x4 and other belittling, insulting names. Did I mention that these guys were in 5 of my 7 classes? Yup. I cried a lot that year. I know I was not alone in being teased. Girls who developed early and were well endowed had to suffer the cruel comments of their peers as well. Teasing sucks, period. But it is incredibly damaging when you are made fun of over something you have absolutely no control over. It wasn’t like I went out and bought a defective set of breasts. It was what I got. I had no say. I wonder what would happen if teenage boys were required to wear buttons on their crotch to indicates how big (or little) their penis’ are. Now, THAT would level the playing field wouldn’t it? I have a feeling that a lot of teasing would stop.
When I got to college, things seemed to change. It wasn’t such a focal point in the circles I ran in. It was really kind of refreshing. I began to see all the benefits to having small breasts. Bras were cheap (and optional in many situations), running was not painful or awkward. I never experienced the back pain that my large breasted friends did. I NEVER had a conversation where all the guy did was talk to my breasts.
Now, at age 41, I am okay with having a small chest. It has taken a long time to come to this place. To not feel that I am somehow less or deficient because of my chest size. That my womanhood is not tied to my breast size, or breasts at all for that matter. That who I am on the inside and outside is okay and enough.