The decision of top surgery
…isn’t as straightforward –in my case– as it might seem. I did loathe getting breasts and, before that, I felt nauseated from the moment I realized it would happen. They were one of the main reasons –along with my overall curvy shape– I detached myself from my body at puberty.
But when I started seeing myself as trans, I became aware of the reasons for my bodily dissociation, and therefore could begin the process of reconciliation. I saw countless images of people with male, boy or genderqueer identities who not only looked like me, but were comfortable with their embodiment. I realized that my body, in fact, did not negate my identity, and that the right clothes could make me look the way I imagined myself. I found that even though my breasts –according to my mental self-image– weren’t supposed to be there, I could still live with them. At least temporarily.
But I know that I don’t want them there. And I think my body deserves to be joyfully embraced instead of merely tolerated. Don’t get me wrong: I truthfully love my breasts, but in the manner of that genderfork quote: “I don’t hate my body, it’s just not my thing. It’s like that dress you see in the window that’s gorgeous, but not your color.” I wish they could somehow exist separately from my body, or that I could retain the option to put them back on occasionally (I know I wouldn’t do it often, but having the choice makes all the difference. I’m prone to nostalgia!).
There are times when I feel rather affectionate towards my boobs. They’re okay when I’m alone –even if I’m naked– and when I see them in the mirror, I wonder if I’ll miss them. They feel nice to the touch, especially in winter when they’re like warm squeeze-balls. At these moments I wonder if I really need to take them off. But when I get dressed, if I don’t bind, they look so out of place on my body, and make me feel so uncomfortable amongst people (even if no one notices them), that I remember why I’m planning for surgery. Even when binding I feel nervous that someone will try to touch my chest; and binding has gotten so painful for me that I rarely do it anymore, even though I end up much more hostile towards everyone.
Would I mind my breasts if I lived on a desert island? No, not really. But I’m human, a social creature (though introverted and not-too-sociable), and my boobs have become an obstacle between myself and others. It’s time to let them go.