1/9/2024 0 Comments Weird boob shapesI became a regular on TBD message boards and learned that most U.S. There was no way I could afford to pay for the procedure on my own (I knew it could cost well over $20,000). I was becoming more informed, but there was a problem: money. Sometimes it takes two surgeries, not one. And since there are different degrees of severity of this deformity, sometimes elements of a breast lift or reduction are involved. To truly correct it, a surgeon needs to first score the constricted tissue, rounding out the lower part of the breast. Since so few surgeons know about the condition, many treat it like a regular breast augmentation and simply insert an implant, which just leads to a larger, tube-shaped breast - the results are horrific. (It's crazy that in 27 years, not one doctor, not even my ob-gyn, ever acknowledged my deformity - now I realize most doctors have never heard of it.) I gave myself a choice: keep hating your body or find a way to rise above your insecurities.įor the next two months, I devoted all my free time to finding plastic surgeons in New York who had experience correcting TBD. Not only did I not look like a "real woman," but I may not be able to have kids either. I was diagnosed with polycystic ovary syndrome - my body lacks adequate progesterone, a hormone directly linked to fertility. Instead, I kept my bra on during sex, and the few times a guy managed to coax it off, I felt so humiliated, I wanted to die.Įverything came to a headin July of 2011 when I was 27. There are basic parts of a relationship that are routine for couples that I could never enjoy: having sex with the lights on, taking a shower together. Inside, I've always been a sexual person, but my deformity suppressed that side of me. Why would someone want to be with me when he could have other girls who were the full package? So I'd have sad, meaningless one-night stands - I could be less inhibited during sex if I knew I never had to face those men again. Therapy didn't work - I was too ashamed to tell anyone my secret. When my friends and family tried to help me, I pulled away even further. I just lay there and cried - I didn't leave my place for five days. One week, when I was 26, I called in sick (I work in fashion) for three days because I couldn't get out of bed. Until that point, I'd felt insecure only about my chest, but soon I felt like every part of me - my personality, my intelligence - was lacking, like I had to just accept whatever hand was dealt to me in terms of jobs or guys because I was damaged goods. My deepest bouts of depression came after college, when I realized my breasts weren't going to change. I felt cheated out of something basic that every other woman takes for granted, and I was angry and ashamed. She was so confident and carefree - everything I was not. It was meant to be a teenage boy's fantasy, but it was mine too. The image of Phoebe Cates taking off her bikini top in the movie Fast Times at Ridgemont High has been seared in my brain since I was 15. My feelings of inadequacy made me fixate on other women's breasts - not in a sexual way but in a longing way. I never let anyone - not my mom, sisters, or best friends - see me topless after age 12, even though I'd seen them (their breasts were normal). I became a master at hiding my misshapen breasts with heavily padded bras (no tops fit right without one underneath). I was so sickened, I didn't Google it again for eight years. (It's a congenital abnormality where breasts don't develop normally the cause is unknown.) It was official - I was deformed. I learned my affliction had a name: tuberous breast deformity (TBD). One night when I was 19, I Googled weird boobs and found pictures of women with breasts like mine. Even in college, I held out hope that I'd have a growth spurt and get a normal body. To cope with my shame, I convinced myself I was a late bloomer. Every time I looked in the mirror, I was disgusted. Mine were tiny, asymmetrical, and spaced far apart, and while everyone else's had a round shape, mine were pointy and narrow with no underboob and enlarged, puffy areolas. She had the most perfect boobs - full and symmetrical. In eighth grade, I glanced at my best friend as she was changing into her bikini. I'd always known my breasts were weird, but I remember the moment it hit me just how abnormal they were.
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