I love my boobs, they even have names – Babs & Betty – but it hasn’t always been that way.
I started puberty early on, and wore my first bra at the tender age of ten. I skipped the double AA cup stage, and by the time I was twelve I was already a C cup. I’d never felt particularly self conscious about developing early, but at secondary school this all changed. Suddenly there were teenage boys, with hormones. Suddenly my blossoming chest became a focal point.
One young lad in particular became almost obsessed with them. He would always stare at them, try to touch them, and bury his head in them. I didn’t know how to react. Was this normal? Was this what having boobs meant? It made me feel uneasy, but nobody else seemed to bat an eyelid, so I let it continue. This went on for months, but eventually I couldn’t take it anymore. I felt like my body was no longer mine, and I hated that it was making me feel increasingly upset and violated, yet nobody seemed to see any problem with it. So I reported him.
I spoke to the teachers, the teachers spoke to the boy, but instead of apologising, the boy accused ME of bullying HIM. That false accusation stole the show. I was simply told to tell my mum, and stop making HIM feel in the wrong. When I told my mum, she just shrugged it off, with an implied ‘boys will be boys’. I avoided all future contact with the boy in question, and as far as everyone else was concerned, that was the end of that.
But that experienced changed me. I never wanted anyone, least not a man, to ever make me feel that way about my body again. So I decided to take ownership. I was going to be proud of my assets. If people were going to stop and stare at them it would be because they look effing amazing, and all on my terms.
So since my teens I have ‘worn’ The Girls with pride. They are my favourite body part, and I’m forever admiring my own cleavage! I LOVE lingerie, and love prancing around the house in my latest purchase. Even as a model I’m quite happy to (tastefully) get them out!
It’s too easy to be made to feel ashamed of our bodies, but they are beautiful, individual creations. We should be proud of our bodies, wobbly bits and all!