What is the emotional relationship that I have with my breasts?
I enter into a deep state of meditation and then take a moment to allow
light and healing energies to flow up and down and around my body. I
see the waves of light and feel them as a warm and slightly tingly feeling.
I ask myself:
What is the emotional relationship that I have with my breasts?
What do I need to know about healing this lump?
What does my body require from me?
(The thought of titty talking comes to my mind and I smile.)
Images and memories run through my mind like a movie of my life. I am
amazed at how many thoughts, feelings and experiences reveal
themselves. I can’t remember having many thoughts about these things,
so it is astounding when I see how much attention, confusion, self
consciousness and pain, I have had in relation to my breasts. Because
there was so much I will only recount some of the main incidences. I do
feel that this entry is going to sound really weird – a conversation with my
tits! However, at the risk of ridicule, I will try and be as candid as I can, as
I do think it might be something that others might relate to, if they should
decide to explore their own issues.
(1) Puberty is a difficult or confusing time for most of us. People start
behaving oddly towards us and our changing bodies seem to be of great
interest to others. Little bumps under out T shirts become a source of
teasing and self-consciousness. Looking back on it now, I wonder if this
was the first time that I became aware that I was being inspected, judged
and compared. I remember trying to cover up and hide myself. Could it
be that my original perception of my breasts was embarrassment and
vulnerability? I had no real idea about sexuality other than the suggestion
that good girls didn’t do it. I didn’t really know what It was. My breast
development changed my relationships with boys; they became
preoccupied with my body and made intimidating remarks. I think I felt like
I was being stalked and maybe I wondered if I was a bad girl?
(2) I had large breasts by the time I was fourteen. Men would leer at me
when I walked past the hotel and boys would call out silly remarks and
giggle. I began wearing big shirts, again in an effort to become invisible.
Sadly, being young and petite with big breast seemed to imply that I was
sexually available. It seemed to me that people had a ‘slut’ undertone in
their opinion of me.
(3) My father become over protective or perhaps quite neurotic about
me. Our relationship took a severe dive. I guess he was trying to warn me
or hold me back, but I felt distrusted, imprisoned and smothered by his
restrictions and accusations.
I once came home from the beach quite sunburned. I had taken off my
bikini top as it was rubbing on my burned skin. Of course I was wearing a
shirt and I’m sure no one else would have noticed my bralessness – but
my father sure did. I had accepted a lift from a girlfriend whose new
boyfriend had a panel van. There were about six of us in the van and I
climbed out of the back when I was dropped off. Dad was in the front yard
and went insane when he realized that I had been in the back of this
“Shaggin’ wagon” with a bunch of “no-hopers,” doing God knows what -
I was stunned and totally humiliated as he charged forward screaming at
the driver who sped off. He followed me into the house looking totally
insane with rage and screaming words like slut and town bike. I tried to
walk away and he grabbed at me. Realizing then that I was not wearing a
bra he slapped me hard across my breast and knocked me off balance.
The next day I left town with my best friend and we hitch-hiked out of
state. I was only fifteen years old at the time. I didn’t finish school; I got a
job and rented my first home – a caravan.
(4) Two or three years later, I met a photographer who offered me the
equivalent of three weeks wages if I would pose topless for him. It
seemed like a good idea at the time and all in all I have no regrets. He
was a decent sort of guy and the pictures were tasteful and very modest
compared to today’s standards. At the time, I thought it was all just a bit
of nonsense and I felt a sense of power; cashing in on men’s stupidity
rather than being on the receiving end of their ignorance.
(5) Buying bras was a real problem. Being small across the back and so
big out the front made it very limiting. These days it is much better, but
back then, the only large cup size bras were for large matronly woman. I
needed underwire and thick straps, so bras were always very
uncomfortable and ugly. They were also very hot in the summer and
sometimes felt like armour. By my mid thirties I was having back pain and
posture problems. I decided to have breast reduction surgery.
Meditating into these memories brings up a lot of emotion. The incident
with my father was particularly poignant. It was just a stupid moment in
time and yet here it is still locked into my body as fear, betrayal,
humiliation, victimization, abandonment and you name it and it’s probably
there too. But it does allow me now to reflect back and release these
beliefs and distorted interpretations. It might sound strange to some
people that I would be making an association between these things and
breast cancer, but I do believe that there is a relationship.
I believe that if I have any conscious or unconscious wish to harm or
diminish myself then it needs to be examined and resolved. Right now, I
could argue that I really love my body. I want to live and I genuinely love
my life. I love being female, and yes, I do love my breasts and everything
that they represent.
But, what if, on a very deep level of awareness, I have been accepting
ambiguous messages. I can see from this meditation that I have held
shocking emotional implants. Most have been initiated by ignorant and
immature people and all of it is destructive. But, I have obviously carried
it all as a measure of shame or a desire to make my breasts invisible or
perhaps even a desire to have them cut away or eaten away?
I have spoken with so many women over the years about body image and
I am constantly amazed at how twisted and distorted their perceptions
are. I’m not just talking about fleeting or occasional reflections; I'm talking
about obsessive and destructive self-loathing. Many women are
disconnected from their bodies; treating them as dead weight or
embarrassing pull-along objects.
Many women just do their best to cover them up and hide them away.
Some women are so sensitive or self-conscious about their bodies that
they torment themselves with shame, guilt and constant criticism. Weight
is probably the biggest issue, but breasts are definitely a matter of self-
consciousness and dissatisfaction.
Just look at the number of reconstructions, reductions and implants in the
past decade or so. It seems like one size should fit all and anything other
than perky and firm is totally unacceptable. The truth is that very few
women have socially perfect breasts and when they do they only have
about a ten year guarantee. Let’s just accept that 99% of women do not
have naturally perfect breast. (Perfect according to magazines, that is.)
More importantly, let’s get real and accept that breasts have nothing to
do with a woman's value, sexuality, desirability or attractiveness.
It's easy to see that our thoughts about our breasts can and do create
self-esteem problems, but are we unconsciously sending our bodies
messages of hatred and destruction? Are we sending so much hate to a
body part that we are actually instructing our body to destroy itself?
That might sound bizarre, but don't our thoughts and feelings create our
reality? I know they do. A subconscious belief, a repetitive affirmation or
a long forgotten trauma are as powerful as any other intention, plan or
affirmation – don’t you think?
How many women have been seriously dissatisfied with their breasts?
(The same could be asked of men and their penises.) Our self image and
our sexuality and desirability are harshly judged and compared in our
culture. Isn’t it worth thinking about when you compare the low incidence
of breast and prostate cancer in other cultures?
Women have been persecuted throughout history. In many part of the
world women are still considered the lesser sex and in some cultures
women are treated as less than animals. The breasts are probably the
most obvious or basic representation of the female. The breasts
represent sexuality and nurturing.
Society overall has some pretty distorted views about sexuality and
mothering. Just how much ‘fear of women’ is threaded through the
collective consciousness? Have women taken on an unconscious need to
separate themselves from their femaleness?
Mothering seems to have become less valued. “Oh, I’m just a stay at
home mum,” almost sounds like an apology. Isn’t being a mother the
most important and rewarding thing a woman can do? Shouldn’t we be in
awe of such a thing? Shouldn’t society protect and value mothers? I
wonder how many women breast fed their babies only to hear comments
like “Your boobs have sagged. You need silicone implants!”
Countless women have breast enlargement to please their partners.
Many will never be able to breast feed their babies. (Breast feeding
strengthens the baby’s immune system and decreases the risk of breast
cancer in the mother) Don’t you think that it is tragic that a woman will
sacrifice her own body and her child’s health just to satisfy an ignorant
interpretation of beauty?
I’m not really meaning to sound judgmental here and the whole male
female power thing is far too great a topic for this purpose. I am trying to
understand my own subconscious or deep seated beliefs about my body.
If I uncover any thoughts or emotions which translate into anything
suggesting that my body is unlovable, shameful or undesirable then I
want to uncreate that lie. I concede that most of these thoughts have
been given to me by ignorant or immature or fearful people and I want to
replace those ideas with my own truth and understanding.
(c) sonya green April 2008
|What is the emotional relationship that I have with my breasts?
From the breast cancer diaries
by Sonya Green
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