THERE’S A BRA FOR THAT
Breasts. Tits. Bosom. Hooters. Cleavage. Mammary Glands. Titties. Bust. Knockers. Ta-tas. Boobs.
So many ways to describe what is really a straightforward, yet miraculous part of the female human anatomy. Each of these words comes with a particular connotation, evoking expansive emotions. Why are there so many words to describe our breasts? I believe it is a result of the complicated and confusing role that breasts play in our lives. Sometimes this role is aligned with our breasts’ biological purpose. Sometimes their role is so contorted by culture that we forget that they ever had a purpose.
To further exacerbate the confusion, I give you: the bra. Bras have existed for little more than one hundred years, and somehow have become a nearly complete necessity of women’s undergarments. They support and shape our anatomy. They aid in socially acceptable conformity or in rebellion. They may maximize or minimize our breasts. They assist in forming a professional demeanor or crafting a sexually desireable appearance. They may be the foundation of support for physical activity or purely for fun and fashion. They are a symbol of conservatism and also of raciness. They have been tossed aside by hippies and burned as a statement for women’s rights. We have more varied relationships to bras then there are shapes and sizes of boobs – which I’m fairly certain is infinite.
I am a middle-aged woman whose body has changed shape frequently over the years and for a multitude of reasons. I am a woman with many identities. I am a wife. A mother. A scientist. A professional. A yogi. An adventurer. A survivor of domestic violence.
As a wife, I yearn to be desired by my spouse. Fortunately, there is a bra for that! But anxiety rises in my chest when I let in the fear of losing any part of my beauty that holds his attraction to me.
As a mother, I am full of gratitude for the connection that breastfeeding afforded me with my children. Actually, there is a bra for that, too. I can relive these tender moments in my memory, the middle of the night, with the lights down low, swaying with a baby in my arms, or rocking in the chair in the nursery, taking in the sweet smell of a newborn, the feeling of my milk letting down, the way I floated in and out of dreams and watching babies sleep in total contentment.
As a scientist and professional, I aspire to appear put together, smart, but approachable. I understand the complicated balance of culture and biology. There is a bra for that, a whole wardrobe, too, but I wobble as I walk the tightrope between perfectly tailored and too sexy.
As a yogi and adventurer, there is a bra to minimize my appearance in favor of accomplishing my hiking mission or achieving my fullest expression of a pose.
As a survivor, one of my chronic symptoms is a damaged image of myself. This makes the process of trying to find the right bra feel like torture, when I am struggling to feel good in my own body, when I’m full of self-doubt, or have conflicting opinions about how I want to fit in and simultaneously reject societal pressures of appearance. I have recently come to realize that as I shop for any item of clothing, I struggle with my distorted self image. I wish there was a bra for that. As I march through middle-age, I find my back and arms are not as supple as they used to be. My breasts not as perky as they once were. My thighs are full of cellulite. Nothing fits like it used to. I look in the mirror and only see flaws. I try to hack the process by taking photos of myself and texting them to my daughter to ask their opinion. They often say it’s fantastic, which I then only partly believe, because they are my daughter and therefore are required to think I’m fantastic. My journey of healing from abuse parallels my journey of self acceptance.
As a woman, I endeavor to see you and myself. Whether we maximize or minimize. Whether by our own pure choice or under societal pressure or somewhere in between. In health and in loss. Whether we each accept our own bodies, genders as they are, or make brave choices to be free and mold ourselves into what we’ve dreamed we can become.
