Templeton
My whole life, I’ve been a bodacious babe, a curvy girl, a “thick ‘en,” or – if you’re a small-minded bigot – a “fat bitch.” No matter what label you chose for me, the point is that from a young age, I was marked as “different” because I had more meat on my bones than other children, especially in the chest area. It’s a reality I had to realize and cope with as a child, and, thankfully, it was something I came to terms with rather quickly because I was taught my size is nothing to be ashamed of.
In fact, the benefits of being big have, in general, outweighed most of the downers. Ever hear the phrase, “more cushion for the pushin’?”
What might surprise you is that it was never my waistline that caused me any inner turmoil. Instead, it was my breasts. I’m not going to share my cup size in print (not until Playboy rings me up, anyway), but let’s just say the girls are large enough to form their own website…and just one cup covers the entire top of my head. Let that mental image soak in for moment.
But having large breasts is not all it is cracked up to be. Growing up, my boobs held me back. In sports and P.E., I had to wear at least three different bras just to be able to run; today, it’s five. Volleyball is almost impossible for me because I cannot adequately position my arms around my chest to pass the ball. Hand-me-down bras from an older sister with boobs even-bigger-than-your-own lacked any support after her wear and tear. At lunch, classmates used to make a game of trying to land tater tots, carrots, raisins and any other random food item in my adolescent cleavage. Prom dress shopping was a nightmare because even when I did find a dress that fit in all the right places, I still had to call in reinforcements (thanks, Grandma) to sew in extra support in the boob area.
My point is, even through all the trials and tribulations of being a chesty girl, I never, even for one second, resented my breasts. Why? Because my breasts are a gift. Because there are too many women in this world who would give anything to have even half of what I have. Because, despite offending a feminist progressive, my breasts are a source of power, motherhood and life. And, for me, they are a sign of my heritage, as big-breasted women are a staple in my family tree.
To think that some women don’t share my views on their own chest is, frankly, a depressing thought. Whether you’re convinced they’re “too small” or “too big,” you have to remember that, like snowflakes, no two breasts are alike, and no two pairs of breasts are comparable. To compare yourself to another woman is the most counter-productive thing you can do for your self-esteem.
Over time, I’ve learned to accept and love my chest for what it is – big. It’s how it’s always been, and it’s how it will always be unless tragedy strikes, and I fall prey to breast cancer or another unthinkable disaster.
Do I think my boobs are superior because they are so gargantuan? No. I would love to be able to shop at Victoria’s Secret (let’s be honest, her bras are pretty) instead of Lane Bryant, but the fact of the matter is that I can’t. But let me tell you, Vicky, you’re sitting on a goldmine of plus-size lingerie if only you would expand your thinking past those “ideal” angels who flutter across your runway in “normal” size undies.
Breasts come in all shapes and sizes, just like our sexual preferences. No doubt a portion of male readers are horrified by the prospects of feeling me up after reading that my bras can fit around my whole head, which is fine by me. Where one guy is turned off, another has a raging boner right now (call me).
And if you’re one of those girls who grew up with (and maybe still has) next-to-nothing boobs, it’s okay. There are plenty of potential partners out there for you, male and female alike. Not everyone wants a handful in the bedroom, if you know what I mean.
If you’ve had crappy luck in love thanks to your chest, whether it’s their size or proportion or how big your areolas are, know that you’re more than likely just fishing in the wrong pond because every single variation of our breasts are something to be regarded as beauty, and if your partner(s) can’t appreciate that, then send them packing. They don’t deserve you or your beautiful tits.
Nobody cares…
I think that the fashion industry in general does a huge disservice to women everywhere but telling them what they should look like. I am also a big woman but I am not big bossomed. I can’t get bras that fit unless they have huge cup sizes to force me to have that hour-glass shape. First of all, I am not an hourglass shape. I am a pear I am happy to be exactly what I am. Second, it is false advertising that I can’t get away with. People look at me when I make a remark about my small breasts in passing and think that I am making a falsely negative remark about myself. But it is the bra that they see and not the real me. I can love my shape and size all that I want to, but it is the fashion industry that sells the clothes and supposedly everyone should want to look like a very specific idea of what is beautiful.
Very good article…Being one of the “chesty”, I certainly can relate where this story came from. Nothing made growing up more awkward then that moment in school where you’re noticed for your chest and the male response is a very loud “DAMN Girl…you got some big titties!”. For the person that responded “Who Cares?”…did you have nothing better to do with your negativity? Dont read it if you dont care shmuck. (I digress) I enjoyed the article, I found it relative, well written, and I totally got where you were coming from.
Definitely agree with the 1st comment!!!