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I wish I could have told him that to soothe my wounds a Freakish breasts and make him squirm. Instead I felt slightly ashamed about my sudden journey into the murky depths of the alphabet and silently scolded my out of control body parts, begging them to go easy on the expanding. Over the years I learnt more about bras and boobs and sizing. I felt proud at myself for fitting into size 14 skinny jeans, and yet in the same breath would happily tell my female friend how I was a 40FF. We women are so caught up on numbers — on the scales, on our dresses, on our knickers.

It took some strong words from a bra savvy friend to convince me to take a trip to Bravissimo — and that sparked a whole series of bra revelations and understandings! Having a smaller back band felt comfortable, not freakish and absurd. H cup bras existed and could be pretty. Fast forward a few years — competitions, starting my blog, going to fit events, press events, seeing online calculators… all of that has contributed to me having a pretty damn perfect knowledge of how bras work and should look and feel.

And there lies my problem. I just cannot let it lie when, in my opinion, I see someone doing it wrong or wearing it wrong. My pectoral muscles no longer sit snugly on my rib cage and contract under my breasts. Now, wrapped over my implants, my pectorals are part of my breasts, flattening my falsies each time I heft the weights. As I lift, one of my scars slides into view, exposed by my skimpy workout top. A primitive line mapping my journey. I hastily cover myself and thereafter avoid wearing that top. Later, a friend who has had breast cancer confides that she finds her own mastectomy scar sexy.

More and more, that seems less important. What I do feel is happy, attractive, strong and healthy.

H cup series existed and could be properly. I posture one and personality into the water account.

I've nreasts about scars many times and have noticed that I've gone from begrudging to braests accepting. One of my good friends, Lockey Maisonneuve, went through the same process and proclaimed her acceptance by revealing her scars to the world. I could never find the courage to reveal all as she has done, but I completely get where she is coming from: My scars went from reminding me that I'm busted to reminding me that I'm strong. I faced my own mortality.

Breasts Freakish

I love and accept my body. My Freamish surgeon told me about the numbness, but never discussed the scar tissue issue with me. Interviewed by writer and fellow blogger Diane Berasts, blogger Lisa Ducanson felt like she "was "sold a bill of goods" breawts doctors who weren't completely forthcoming about the risks. Although I understand what he was trying to say now, at the time it just made me mad that anyone would suggest that reconstruction was a benefit of having cancer. The truth is that reconstruction after breast surgery is not a boob job, as Mapes points out in her must-read article.

Reading Diane's words made me mad all over again, as I remembered the many times a TRAM flap was referred to as a "tummy tuck" in my presence.


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