A Dear John Letter to my Breasts

Dear John (aka my Breasts),

I just wanted to let you know that we're breaking up. 

For the first dozen years of my life, I couldn't have cared less about you. You did nothing for me... then again, I didn't want or need you for anything.

Then came puberty and "the change." Our awkward relationship started during this time as I tried to figure out if I looked good enough. Magazines and media (and the occasional friend) said I should look or dress one way. I didn't feel comfortable doing that and so I hid in bigger clothes. I didn't really understand what it meant to love me for me and that I was beautiful just the way I was.

College helped me change some thoughts. I was reminded that I was beautiful... and it wasn't because of either of you! I learned how to dress myself better outwardly to match what I knew was true of my inner beauty.

For a few years I lived overseas and that made me question a lot about how I felt about you and the rest of my body. I chose to dress conservatively and yet felt like I was being undressed and judged by the stares of both men and women. Never had I felt more uncomfortable and exposed. I chose to walk and dress with confidence no matter what were the reactions of others.

Then for the first time when I got married, I learned to accept you and felt way more than just "good enough." Fast forward five years and you finally served a real purpose. You helped me nourish my little boy for almost six months. Breastfeeding was by no means an easy task but again, it was a choice and sacrifice to give my boy the best that I could offer.

And then you had the audacity to try and kill me!

After all these years... I've tried to take care of you, not abuse you, and not base my life around you... I've bought you bras that made you look good and helped me feel good. I dressed you nicely but didn't show you off unnecessarily. And now you're trying kill me? Was that really necessary? I don't think so.

So I thank you for teaching me many lessons through the years about the true meaning of beauty. Thank you for helping me give my best to my little boy. And through this experience, thank you for teaching me to see past you to my heart.

In the last year and a half, I will have gone from a 34 A/B to a 36 DD to a 34 A & B and soon I'll be just a 34. I've spent more money on bras this past year than I have perhaps in the rest of my life! No more. I'm through with playing this game of changing sizes and I'm especially through with that big lump of cancer in you.

Over the last seven months I've looked in my bathroom mirror and cried as I shaved my head, my finger nails were damaged, my eyebrows & eyelashes fell out. "It's ok... they'll grow back," I was told.  

Well, my friends, you're getting cut off and you're not coming back. I'm finished with you. I no longer have need for either of you. I am better off without you. Goodbye.

But even though I no longer want you in my life, you are a part of me and I'm having a hard time of saying goodbye and letting go. I'm afraid of facing the feelings of being "less of a woman." I know that this is a lie but I'm still having to work through it to believe the truth. I'm not looking forward to the pain of our separation. I've heard to prepare for some difficult days ahead. 

I am more than relieved to know that I will have my dear husband beside me when I wake up and I know that I will be loved no matter what I look like. I really couldn't ask for a better friend and support through this than my husband. I'm struggling at the idea of being away from my son and all of the joy he brings. Not seeing his smile or hearing his voice first thing in the morning will be difficult. I know that he will be taken care of well and will have so much fun playing with his cousins. I can't wait for the day when I get to wrap my arms around him without the fear of pain.

I will be learning a new lesson about beauty tomorrow and the following days. I will look in that same mirror and cry as I learn to accept the new me with my wounds and scars... and less cancer.

I want to live... and you're trying to stop me from it... so it's either you or me.

And I choose me.