These Are My Breasts, Not Sex Objects

These Are My Breasts, Not Sex Objects

Unlike Growing Up Skipper dolls, real women don’t have arms that turn back the aging process, and their boobs, like the rest of their bodies, change as they grow older.  At some point naturally bigger breasts lose their “perkiness” and whatever perceived social advantages having big boobs supposedly come with get taken away. Instead, you are the recipient of comments like, “Ever thought of a breast lift?” Or, “You must be wearing a push-up bra!” And then you feel bad for feeling bad that your breasts, like the rest of you, are getting older.

What would my experience of my breasts have been like if they hadn’t been objectified so much?  I will never know. Then again, why not start relating to them differently now?

I decided to sit front of my mirror and really see my breasts: Is it okay I’m even doing this? As if looking at my own chest was somehow tawdry.

Cue the voice inside my head: I’m checking myself out… no I’m not… so what if I am…  this isn’t that! Followed by the realization that despite having had breasts all my life, I’d never really seen them.

Sure, I’d looked at my boobs before—scrutinized them even, to try and figure out what everyone else was fussing about—but to actually see them for their own sake, the way you would something or someone you want to know personally—never. I didn’t even know they were slightly asymmetrical. And then, more thoughts and observations: Is that a mole right there? I wonder if my boobs resemble my grandmother’s? Thank goodness they are healthy!  I think I love them… and on and on.

It was as if by seeing them directly, rather than through the filter of someone else’s gaze or perception, I was able to have my own experience of my boobs that was outside the construct of objectification that they had been imprisoned in for so long.

These are my breasts—they are not sex objects that happen to be attached to my body. They are part of my body, part of me.

 

Originally posted on Stories From The Belly and posted with permission.

 Diahann Reyes blogs at http://storiesfromthebelly.com

Related Posts

Experiencing "Are You There, God?" with My Tween -- for the First Time

When I was on the precipice of puberty, all the girls in my class were reading Judy Blume's Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret. Except for me. My mother was 44 when I was born, ancient for that era. She was raised in the South, the daughter of Presbyterian missionaries. By contrast, I grew up in the Ice Storm70s. Parents were swapping car keys at parties, smoking weed with their kids, divorcing to "find" themselves and parading a series of lovers in front of their children. So the fact that my mother deemed Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret too racy for me to read made me feel freakish. So when my daughter and I were browsing through a bookstore recently, and happened upon Are You There, God? It's Me Margaret, I bought it so she and I could read it together -- both for the first time.   Read more >

Breasts: I've Gotta Get This Off My Chest

When I was 7 or 8 years old, I was taking a bath with a friend and she started pinching her nipples. I asked her what she was doing and she replied, "I'm trying to make them grow. This will make them grow." At the time, I was not invested in the breast debate. I didn't think about breasts at all. I was too busy thinking about climbing trees, riding bikes, and convincing my older brother to let me hang out with his friends and him.   Read more >

5 Brilliant Native American Women to Follow Right Now

During the past year, Native American women have been in the spotlight with their efforts to change the mascots for the Washington DC NFL football team and the Cleveland major league baseball team. In honor of November's Native American Heritage Month, we're featuring some bloggers and social media influencers who are at the forefront of these discussions.   Read more >

Recent Posts by Diahann Reyes

Comments

In order to comment on BlogHer.com, you'll need to be logged in. You'll be given the option to log in or create an account when you publish your comment. If you do not log in or create an account, your comment will not be displayed.