As most of you probably know, I have an ever-present fight going on with my extremely large chest. Every day, I struggle to wrangle them in, pull my shirt over them, and keep them out of my way. They are, quite literally, a pain in the neck, and sometimes it seems like they never stop growing. While I’ve come quite accustomed to these daily battles, there are days when my massive boobs fight back in ways I am unprepared for. These are the days in which I feel embarrassed and slightly insulted by my traitorous chest. It seems that lately, there have been a lot of these days.
I’ve had the same winter coat since I was 16 years old. It’s black with a fur lined hood, insulated with feather for extra warmth, and it happens to be Calvin Klein. It’s the only designer label thing I’ve ever owned, and I love it. Best of all, I didn’t pay a designer price for it. It’s warm and fashionable, which is perfect for Minnesota winters. Now, I had significantly smaller boobs when I got this coat; still larger than average, but not quite as humongous as they are now. The last few years, Calvin (the name of my coat for obvious reasons), has become harder and harder to zip over my breasts. I usually have to pinch it shut with one hand, suck in my chest as best as I can, and pull the zipper up with the other hand. It takes a lot more time and effort than most people take to zip their coats, but I refuse to give Calvin up that easily.
The other day, I was doing just that as I prepared to head out into the frozen tundra I call home. The coat zipped, and my breasts were compressed beneath the thick layers, when suddenly I inhaled a little too sharply. The zipper blew open as my boobs sprang out from their confinement. There I was standing right inside the door, my coat half unzipped with the zipper up by my collar and my chest spurting out of it. It occurred to me that getting this coat off was going to be much harder than it was to get it on. After a lot of tugging, pulling, and adjusting, I managed to get the zipper down while pushing my chest down as far as I could get it. Calvin survived, and seems to have no lasting damage, however I am now afraid to breathe whenever I have my coat zipped.
Foolishly thinking that nothing more embarrassing could happen, I went on with my life. A few days later, I was at work doing what I do, when my bra suddenly became too spacious. This bra, which I’ve been wearing almost every day for the past year and half, had been down to one of two hooks for quite some time (I blew through the first one months ago), and I have been lying in wait for the second one to blow. Evidently, this moment had come. In the middle of my eight hour work shift. To make things more humiliating than they already were, none of my female coworker friends were working that day, so I was forced between two options: try and get it myself or ask one of my many male coworker friends to help me. It quickly became obvious that there was no way I was going to be able to fix this problem myself, so I was forced to track down the one person I knew could help me without making things even more awkward than they already were.
I walked to the other side of the store with my hands behind my back, holding my bra closed, frantically searching for where he might be. Just when my arms were beginning to ache from their task of holding my breasts in their place, I found him. Amazingly, he agreed to help, and we found a spot hidden from cameras and other humans. Now, I have had a lot of awkward moments in my life, but this one definitely makes the top five. I had to stand with my back to him (which thankfully hid my face) with my shirt lifted up in order for him to be able to bend the broken hook and such a way that would contain my mountains for the remainder of my shift. I don’t think I will ever stop being thankful for having a coworker who was willing to help me in one of my most humiliating moments. I went home that night and spent $150 ordering four new bras online.
Now how could any boob-related problem possibly top this? I was asking myself the same question, and a few days later, I received an answer. Now what you need to know for this to make sense, is that I put off putting my bra on as long as possible. This was especially true at this time, because my good one was broken beyond repair and the one I was wearing had a stubborn underwire that continuously wiggled its way out of my bra to stab me in the chest. I also get very warm whilst getting ready in the mornings, so I’m usually also shirtless. Now this was all fine and dandy, until I needed to go out and start my car. If I got dressed first, my car would not be thawed by the time I needed to leave for work, so I threw on some pajama pants, ran downstairs, threw on Calvin, and headed outside to start my car. I was halfway across the parking lot when it happened again. I inhaled too deeply, and the zipper burst open. My boobs erupted out of their cage, and barged out into the cold, winter air. This is the moment I realized how lucky I am to have a job that requires me to be there at 6:30 in the morning. The parking lot was dark and empty, so no one witnessed the mother of all prison breaks.
Today, I’m happy to say I have made it without any boob-related incidents… so far. I have a new bra that fits well and doesn’t stab, my coat still manages to zip correctly, and it seems that my breasts have simmered down for the time being. We all have parts and pieces of ourselves we wish we could change. We all have bodies that sometimes betray and embarrass us. The important thing is that we never stop trying to love ourselves, because we are all perfectly imperfect in our own, beautiful way. Keep working on accepting yourself, and I’ll do the same. Maybe one day, we’ll look in the mirror, and not hate our reflections so much.
If you liked this post, check out my other post on the struggles of bearing a huge chest The Busty Battle (link below).