My daily life includes–and has included for a while–paying background attention to how I feel about my boobs. I’ve been largely undecided up until a few days ago, and if I don’t write about it RIGHT NOW, I’ll just keep putting it off and then it’ll be non-topical in a few months.
Part of this process has most recently included mulling over the thought experiments about my boobs, which I wrote about a while ago. It has assisted me greatly in coming to final terms with what I want to do about my chest.
The biggest and only barrier is Chris. I’ve determined that I can live with scarring, with the financial burden, with lost sensitivity. I don’t ever want to hold my boobs from bouncing on stairs or have to put on a binder in order to feel comfortable around other people.
So, I told him that in passing right before I left for work. I told him that if I knew 100% for certain that it wouldn’t fuck up our relationship, I would just call it a plan and move forward with it when convenient. I haven’t made time to talk to him further about it, though I’d like to make that happen soon.
I don’t feel the need to ascertain my opinions day-by-day to confirm or denounce my feelings. It seems that, at this point, the only thing that should sway my view would be a sudden, overwhelming positivity about having boobs. I’m never more than begrudgingly neutral of them (and my views while intoxicated by endorphins do not count).
The only time I want to emphasize them is when I want to feel good/pretty, which is most easily done by going all-femme because that’s the main way that I know how to be sexy and appealing. It doesn’t necessarily have to result in me getting attention to make me feel good about myself–I know how I look objectively enough to say that I’m good at being femme-attractive. I’ve been feeling better about myself anyway (thank you, vitamin D3!!) and don’t often feel the need to “make” myself feel better by dressing one way or another.
Speaking of how I dress, I had a really awesome moment a month or two ago that I’ve “been meaning” to write about and haven’t made the time, so I figure I’ll work it in:
Chris and I were standing outside near the sliding-glass door and I caught my reflection in the glass. I was wearing baggie Tripp-style pants, long socks, some Van’s, a baby-tee with sports bra, and one of my jackets. It was the image of how I dressed about five years ago, which is the basis by which I determine how much I’ve changed. For some reason, I just feel like I was most “myself” around that time.
It was such a great positive affirmation for me. I’m not really that different from who I used to be. I’ve evolved my views and opinions and how I see myself, but I’m still the same person. There’s not something fundamentally flawed about me because I don’t often like to wear skirts–and I don’t dislike wearing skirts just because I have newly-developed issues with being female and femme. That’s just who I am. I’ve never been a fan of pink or of makeup (except for playing) or of a lot of other femmey-associated things.
The way I prefer to dress isn’t any different from back then. I still hate doing anything to my hair to make it “presentable”, I still roll out of bed with ten minutes to get ready for work (previously school). I still like to sit around and play games or dick around on the internet.
Finding out I was genderqueer (at first thinking I was trans) caused me to change some things about how I dress–namely wearing MUCH baggier clothing and trying HARD to downplay my femininity. Immediately following that, I dressed femmey more often than not because of being with Chris. I’m finally getting back in touch with who I am without really trying to be any one thing or another.
I still like my baggie pants, my knee-high socks, my monochromatic closet, my fabulous gay-ness and a whole host of other things that aren’t any different from back then. I still miss Jamie. I still love Kate to death. I still love theatre and music. I still have the heart of an activist and a humanist.
And, you know what? I’m starting to actually like who I am, and starting to not feel like I’m at fault for everything and a terrible person. That fluctuates with the depression, but overall I’m much better acquainted with myself. And if I had my way about it, I’d start saving up for a mastectomy today. It still might not ever happen–that ball is in Chris’ court now–but at least I know where I stand. I can go back to wearing whatever I want that suits however I feel without keeping tabs. If having them starts to damage me at some point and Chris can’t be with me without them, then we may have to part ways. Not having to think about my own perceptions of them is feeling a lot better than not knowing.