The Saggy Boob Saga
My boobs and I have been through a lot. But we’re learning to embrace the journey.
Hey there, sorry to drop in on you like this! I know, you probably would’ve been over the moon if you could’ve traded places and had fried eggs for boobs — sounds like a dream, right? But nope, life had other plans for us. And trust me, don’t ask me why. We didn’t get a say in the matter either. Sometimes, I wonder how things would’ve turned out if we’d been greeted with open arms and a little more appreciation. Let me be real — appreciation is something my boobs and I never really shared. And honestly? Still don’t. I had my kids back when breastfeeding wasn’t exactly the cool thing to do, so I never got that sense of nurturing pride everyone talks about. For 30 years, I’ve tried to hide them. You’ll never catch me in a low-cut top.
Why? Because the moment I do, I feel like the whole world sees me as… well, you know. High school didn’t help either. Somehow, having big boobs meant you were “that girl.” I wasn’t, but try convincing people otherwise when your chest does all the talking. Even now, it’s baggy tops or bold prints for me — anything to keep those headlights under wraps. Nope, no dainty, subtle nipples here. I’ve got the kind that makes their presence known, even in desert heat.
And bras? Don’t get me started. I practically have to take out a loan to get one that fits, and when I do, they’re far from comfy. Ever see those ads for bras that promise to be “super comfortable” and “made for larger busts”? Yeah, I fell for that scam… twice. Never again! And here’s the kicker — not only have my boobs always been big, they’ve never been perky. Nope, from the moment they showed up, they were these big, bulbous, droopy things. I mean, they never even had a fighting chance! Now, in my seventies, let’s just say they’ve taken the scenic route even farther south. The view? Not exactly something you’d frame and hang on a wall. Those women with powerful, perky breasts? Yeah, I envy them like you wouldn’t believe!
Luckily, I’ve got broad shoulders and a solid frame, which helps balance out the situation a bit. If I’d ended up with those fried-egg boobs we were talking about earlier, I’d probably look like I was trying out for the offensive line. At least I’ve got proportion going for me. But let’s be honest, my boobs aren’t exactly handing out thank-you notes for that small victory. No, no. They demand a level of appreciation I’ve yet to give them.
Over the years, I’ve laid a lot of blame at the foot (or should I say base) of these boobs — who now hang out just north of my waistline. And don’t get me started on how they’re just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to societal expectations. If they’d been born into a world that celebrated “boob freedom,” maybe, just maybe, they’d have gotten the respect they deserve. But instead, saggy boobs are shunned, tucked away, strapped into mechanical contraptions that force them into shapes they’ll never naturally take. And so many girls born into the saggy-boob tribe feel this deep, naked shame, never knowing that a solid chunk of women are sporting the same shape. But hey, let me switch gears for a second. I do want to thank you for letting the girls breathe tonight.
Even though they’re not winning any beauty contests, they still appreciate that you take them seriously — especially when it comes to those mammograms. Yep, super important. And you know what? Even though they can’t speak for themselves, I know they’re thankful for that too. At the end of the day, the only one judging these two? It’s me. And maybe… just maybe, I’m starting to go a little easier on them.
The Bottom Line
So, as I wrap this up, here’s the deal: my relationship with my boobs may have been rocky, but it’s a journey that has taught me a thing or two about acceptance and resilience. I’ve spent so long trying to hide them, to shape them into something more socially acceptable, but now I’m beginning to realize that they’re a part of my story — every droopy, bulbous inch of them. We live in a world where physical appearances often dictate how we feel about ourselves, but it’s high time we start embracing our bodies for what they are. Every curve, every sag, tells a tale of experience and strength. I may not flaunt them or parade around in low-cut tops, but I’m learning to appreciate the journey they’ve taken me on.
So, here’s to all the women out there — whether you’re blessed with perky breasts or wearing your saggy badges of honour. Let’s lift each other up, celebrate our differences, and remember that our worth isn’t defined by our bustlines. And who knows? Maybe, just maybe, we can start seeing our bodies as our allies instead of our adversaries. After all, they’ve been with us through thick and thin, and it’s about time we gave them the love and respect they truly deserve.