My Visit With A Plastic Surgeon

When I was a kid, I remember wearing baggy men’s clothing to hide my overweight body. My daily attire consisted of a pair of long athletic shorts and an oversized shirt so not to cling to my stomach. I was just a child, but children’s clothes for girls did not fit me and women’s clothes did not fit my childlike style preference, so men’s athletic clothes did the trick – they allowed me to hide.

This story repeated itself over and over all the way until I got to college. Going into my freshman year I weighed 258lbs. I played college softball, and the environmental change of life structure and HARD AF collegiate sport exercise helped me drop some weight. I then started running extra on my own for additional exercise, and things started to change for me in the clothing department. I even allowed my teammates to put makeup on me (they begged), and from then on I started wearing it periodically. It was during those college years that I really started to change, both internally and externally. I was dressing more feminine and feeling more confident in fitted clothing. 

 I look back on those years and wish that it hadn’t taken the act of losing weight in order to feel worthy of dressing feminine. I also look back on those years and the years that followed into my 20s and wish that weight loss hadn’t been my only goal. I’ve been on both extremes when it comes to weight - my heaviest at 258 (18 years old) and my lightest (31 years old – 5 years ago) at 157, and I can tell you that I wasn’t happy at either one. At my heaviest, I didn’t want to be in my own skin. At my leanest and smallest, I was constantly striving for more because 157 wasn’t enough. “I could do better.” 

Here I sit at 175-182 depending on the day, and I’m the strongest that I’ve ever been both mentally and physically. I’m feminine because I want to be. I wear lipstick. Sometimes I wear no makeup. I wear a two piece swimsuit to the pool. Sometimes I wear a one piece swimsuit instead. I can do pull-ups. You see, my weight does not dictate any of the above. It’s my weight. The worth that I feel for myself comes from much more than a number on the scale, but it took a lot of years and it took a lot of inner work to reach that realization. 

But, I hate my breasts. 

There, I said it. I. HATE. MY. BREASTS. I always have. There has never been a time in my life that I remember being okay with taking off my shirt. Even in times of complete privacy I often walk around wearing a sports bra. Braless is not a place of comfort for me. I don’t know that I ever experienced youthful breasts. I was always a heavier child, and with drastic weight gain to weight loss, gravity happens. Loose skin happens. And let’s get real here. I have belly fat. I have cellulite. Hell, I even have loose skin on my muscular arms. I’m fine with all of it. But I’m not fine with my breasts. 

I turned 36 in March. It’s been a reflective year so far, and it’s one that led me to start researching plastic surgeons. I stared behind computer screens for months before I finally got the courage to make an appointment. I’m not looking for cosmetic surgery to bring me happiness. I’m happy, dammit. But I’m looking for it to give me something I never had, and I’m looking for it to bring me functionality to the damn clothes I like to wear. Taping my breasts for a cute top is not my thing. And let’s also say this – breasts don’t have to be perky to be beautiful. There’s no breast shaming going on here. But I want something different FOR ME, and that’s my business. 

“Does this mean I’m fake? Does this mean I’m not authentic? Does this change me?” There were so many thoughts running through my head. I even admit that a few years back I may have judged another woman when hearing the term “cosmetic surgery”. But in this phase of my life I repeatedly say, “your body, your business – my body, my business” and I mean it with so much power in my voice. 

A breast lift. That’s what I’m doing. No implants. Nothing else. I’m taking my small breasts and putting them on an elevator. We’re going up, baby! I’ve gotten lots of reactions:

“You could do implants!” No, I have zero desire for bigger breasts. Also, zero desire for implants inside of my body. Not my thing. 

“You could transfer fat into your breasts.” Nope. Not for me. It’s common to think that all women strive for bigger breasts. This isn’t true. 

“Oh, you don’t need to do that.” I actually wasn’t asking for an opinion. 

“I’m so happy for you!” <FIST PUMP> Thank you. 

In my more in-depth conversations with the people closest to me, I’ve been asked if I have any desire for additional changes. The answer is an easy no. I don’t want anything else done, and for what it’s worth, I would vow to be transparent in those changes. A lot of what I do every day is educate people on what weightlifting can do for your mind and your body. If I showed up with a flat stomach and pretended that it only came from my workout regimen, it would be UNAUTHENTIC AF. Tummy tucks are okay if you desire to get one. But I don’t personally desire that (or liposuction either) and it’s important for me to be authentic with those that come to me for things regarding health and fitness.  

I’m getting a mastopexy {breast lift only} and I am undeniably happy with that decision. I’m NOT happy that I can’t lift anything over 10 lbs for a couple of weeks, but that will subside. This post is a reminder that it’s not our jobs to determine what someone should or should not do with their body. It just isn’t. You can control everything in your lane, but the minute you try to get into someone else’s lane, you fuck up traffic. Stay in your own lane.