My Breasts

My Breasts

Hello and welcome back to Raped 25 Years. At this time, I invite you to take a walk through my journey of healing as a sexual assault survivor. Don’t forget to stay to the end so that you may enjoy my gem of positivity.

I have a love hate relationship with my breasts, and I always have. Since the first time these “things” sprouted forth on my chest, Ived to hate them. The only time since they came into existence that I actually liked them, was when I was actively anorexic. It was during a highly traumatic time when I was being viciously gang raped at my place of work, and used as a sex slave in my own home by the man I refer to as Alex. During that time in my life, my breasts were nonexistent.

My first bra was when I was in Third Grade. Even then, I started out as a size 34B.  Mum went out the next day to get me some 34C. The only good thing I could say about that, it made the Fourth Grade girls absolutely green with envy. But my breasts also caught the fancy of one of the male teachers. That same male teacher, Mr M, was a perpetrator who in three years time, raped me.

My breasts have been a source of abuse by many of my perpetrators. Alex would control me by bite my breasts and nipples until they bled. My breasts developed permanent sores, and the pain every moment was excruciating. Even now, I remember the agony.

What do my breasts currently mean to me? Nothing good. Shame. Failure. Pain. Fear.

Not the sort of words to describe a normal and natural part of a woman’s permanent body. These words don't foster a positive body image at all. Not in myself and certainly not you, the reader.

Shame, because my breasts then cause attention to be directed at my chest rather than me and my personality. How can men in particular, learn something as basic as what the colour of my eyes are, when their vision is solely concentrated about 12 inches (30cm) below? 

Failure, because a woman’s breasts are meant to nurture a baby. But my breasts are a constant reminder of my failure to be a mother to living children. Even worse, the side effect of my trauma medication cause my breasts to lactate. It is a constant traumatic reminder.

Pain, because my 56DDD (34E) breasts physically and psychologically hurt. If I wear a support bra, there is still physical back pain. If I try to exercise, my breasts physically jiggle so much that they embarrass me, as well as being painful. Psychologically, my breasts hurt simply because I know they are there, and they are a constant reminder of the abuse.

Fear. This one may surprise you a little. Yes, there’s the fear of sexual attention and possible abuse, which in my mind is pretty much a foregone conclusion. But there is fear for another reason. There are high rates of breast cancer in both sides of my family. In fact, breast cancer killed my paternal grandmother before my father was 9 years old.

So, what would I like my breasts to mean to me in the future? I would like to reclaim my breasts to be just another normal part of my healthy body. To not see my breasts as so grotesquely large. I would like them to no longer be a source of remembered pain and embarrassment in public. No longer a constant reminder of fear and shame.

I hope that as I heal I will be able to look fully at my naked body and actually think, “yeah, I’m not too bad after all. I can live with this.” Not exactly fulsome praise, but better than trying to cut my breasts off (and yes, I have tried). So there is definitely some improvement in my thinking. The biggest and probably hardest thing to break, will be the fear aspect. To not fear being in a sexual relationship, in which my breasts have previously become a real source of abuse.

What do your breasts mean to you? Do you see them as a natural and lovely part of your beautiful whole? Don’t forget to leave a comment to share what your breasts mean to you.

The gem of positivity I have chosen this time, is sometimes called a quote but is more of a statement:

When a woman stands tall, her breasts are a part of her statement 

How wonderful if I could feel that way about my breasts. To be able to embrace a part of myself which has been such a source of abuse. It is possible to learn to love the body that you the reader, and I, have. Breasts and all.

Thank you for sharing in this short walk with me. My hope is that it has been of some use to you in your journey. And until next time, breathe - and believe.