- I’ve always sort-of hated my body.
I was too fat.
Or too short.
Or too ugly.
My nose was too big.
My boobs weren’t perky enough.
My butt was too big or not muscular.
My thighs never fit in pants properly.
So much of this was my own doing,
Just “normal” woman’s judgement of herself.
And so much of this was from years and years of being made to feel subpar by a husband I just could never please.
But in these last 3, almost 4 years, I’ve come to more or less accept myself, and love myself for who I am and who God wanted me to be.
And through that, I found a man who loves me too, for all that I am, flaws and all.
And somehow, I stupidly thought it wouldn’t be such a big deal to have a mastectomy.
To remove my breasts.
Because I thought, stupidly, having them removed and immediately replaced wouldn’t make me miss my breasts.
Instead, I look down each day after my shower, and I cry.
Not because my plastic surgeon didn’t do a good job.
But because I somehow feel less like me,
Less like the woman I am,
And because there’s just a part of me that I didn’t choose to be missing, that is now missing.
I’m told I will get to a point where I’m ok with the new me, and possibly even get to where I’m happier with who I am now more than who I used to be, but for now, I’m just taking each day, one tear at a time.