An Open Letter To My Huge Boobs

The ups and downs of growing up double D

Dear boobs, today I’m stripping off my bra to write a letter full of gratitude for having you in my life.

I won’t deny it; when you two showed up, I was in denial.

I already had training bras and saw my older sisters becoming “ladies,” yet I refused to take the step of acknowledging things were changing in front of me.

I hated feeling like I didn’t belong, so I refused to wear any “big girl” garment until one of my teachers pointed out, in public, that I needed to start wearing bras.

Our not-so-secret secret was finally out there:

I was sexually loaded up, like Aphrodite from Mazinger Z.

That's how my cousins referred to every person with a big bumper when we were kids.

Before #metoo and the body positivity movement, getting implants for your quinceanera was a must. At that time, we were suckers for titties.

While everyone was hiding sudden erections or complaining about life-giving them lemons and stuffing their bras with toilet paper, I mastered the mechanical principles of dam construction.

I needed a strongly wired bra with back support to stop you two from furiously swinging loose while running in the high school gym in front of everyone.

I went through adolescence, getting the unwanted attention of boys and their girlfriends alike, many of whom chose to bully me aggressively.

Good old times.

But there’s more than meets the eye:

None of them knew that I didn’t need any help feeling bad about myself. Instead, I remember staring at my naked reflection in the mirror and dreaming about going under the knife to fix all the “imperfections” my 14-year-old body had.

One of them being my big natural breasts, of course.

Nowadays, I have a healthier perspective on beauty standards, and I can look back to the past and assure you I was a super hot teenager.

But self-esteem issues are complex AF.

I used to hide you behind black turtle necks, combining the contention power of 2 sports bras worn simultaneously, and consider chopping down breast sizes to look like everyone else.

Then, I was taught you two, my boobies, were there for two biological reasons: feeding tiny humans and sexually arousing big babies.

Whenever I looked down and saw a man gobbling my nipples off, I thought that was it. Boobs were there fulfilling an evolutionary purpose.

Nevertheless, I always felt odd, especially whenever I heard a man saying that when it comes to titties, “a mouthful was more than enough.”

Sorry. I wasn’t aware of what a red flag was back in the day.

Later on, while working on my self-esteem, I ditched the ever misogynistic beauty standards, the same standards entangling everyone in a hopeless fight against the mirror.

But rest assured, realizing “no one” is happy with what they naturally got helped me see things differently.

We all are pushed to feel ashamed of enjoying food and sex. Big natural boobs like yourselves are a Freudian combination of both.

If beauty standards are impossible, the only way around them is to understand your body is not here to make anyone else happy.

And let me tell you, boobies, a great lover sucks your nipples to create a symphony of ticklish variations. But, a person who loves you knows a big pair of breasts like you aren’t spilling udders to quench their lustful thirst.

Boobs are the first place most of us are sheltered before giving our first steps towards independence.

And let me tell you, while holding leftie as I write this, you boobies are soft and cuddly. Independence is a B.

Thank you for helping me judge a men's character:

Years ago, a guy looking at my cleavage could make me feel naked, exposed, and “lacking modesty.” But now I know carrying you two is sufficient weight on my shoulders to put up with society’s expectations.

Collectively, we’re more desperate to cure saggy skin than cancer. As Simone De Beauvoir once said, “One is not born, but rather becomes, a woman.”

Growing up shielded behind a big pair of jugs imposed enough distance to reflect on what kinds of people I wanted near me. You also provide me with a comfortable space for my loved ones to cuddle.

Between you and me, thank you for the extra storage space to hoard my credit card, keys, and cellphone, sometimes all at once.

Now, please stop hoarding the popcorn that falls off my mouth during movies. I guess one's breasts are unique like that; You make me feel whole in more ways than one.

Most importantly, we don’t have to suit anybody else’s standards to be likable or desirable. It doesn’t matter if some guys prefer petite, fuller, or perky boobs.

You’re mine, and I love you just the way you are. One of you is a tiny bit bigger, while the other is more sensitive, more intuitive.

My body parts aren’t here to feed, allure, or make anyone feel envy. Instead, I have you, a pair of huge knockers only because I come from a long line of big-breasted women who were taught to prioritize everyone else but themselves.

And now it’s our turn to honor all that generational sacrifice by putting ourselves first.

Thanks for making my world go round and all the kinky memories. With love, Nats.

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Did you grow up with a big pair of knockers too? Tell me everything in the comments.