Me first. That’s my new mantra (adopt it with me, yes?)

I hit a moment of self consciousness today that had me looking more closely at my worries, and what they’re really founded on.

Since the op I’ve been practically living by the mantra “people are not counting my boobs!”

I mean, it’s true. Most people are far too caught up in their own lives to pay close attention to random people on the street. In the three weeks I’ve been going merrily about one titted, I’ve noticed maybe two people giving me a confused stare (and I know it was because of the op, by virtue of said stare beginning at my breast, singular, before meandering awkwardly to my eyes.)

It helps that most of my summer clothes are bright and boho, thus hiding all manner of things. But today, oh woe! I put on my favourite top and it did not skim flatteringly at all. Oh no, this blue and lilac draped number might as well have “look ma, one breast!” picked out in sequins.

Of course I could have just put my “softie” on, but wearing it doesn’t feel as comfortable to me as simply being as I am. And of course there’s no rule that says I have to be confident showing off my asymmetry. I’d like to be one day, but if I’m not, that’s cool too.

It got me thinking though. What made me uncomfortable? The thought of someone staring? Judging? Thinking I look freaky?

That’s when I came up with a new mantra. “People are not counting my boobs” is all well and good, but it’s still about other people. What they see. What they notice. It’s not about me.

So from now on my mantra is “me first.” My clothing and other decisions will be based on what makes me most comfortable. What feels best to me. Not on what other people might think, or notice.

I have a bra measuring appointment next week “just in case”. But just in case what? I keep saying it’s in case I want to wear a prosthesis. But I already know I don’t like wearing one. And my yoga bras are more comfortable on my side, where it still looks like I have a spare breast under my arm (hey, I’m fat and the fat sits differently now it stops in a different place!) Yoga bras are more comfy across the seroma on my chest, too. So the bra and the hypothetical prosthesis that would go in it wouldn’t be for my comfort, but to fit in.

Fuck that.

So this is my invitation to you today. Whether you have one breast, two, or none, and whether you hate wearing a prosthesis or can’t get enough of your knitted knocker, make sure you’re making decisions for you first. Live in your body the best and happiest way you know how. You matter most. No one else is living your life.

(I compromised with myself and wore a red dress that doesn’t make it obvious, but isn’t quite as flowy as what I’ve worn to date. I felt great!)


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