Most people probably come to this site and think, "Who in their right mind would create a website publicizing something that most women make a concerted effort to conceal?"
The answer? Someone who doesn't feel the need to hide.
Growing up, I wasn't exactly your All-American sweetheart. Mind you, I wasn't an outcast or social pariah either - quite the contrary actually. I was a hyperactive, attention-seeking, culturally diverse, somewhat spastic, explosion of energy. I might also add that I was a chubb-o.
Now, don't think this is any sort of sob story; that's not my style and doesn't make for very good blog fodder. Being a little butterball never stopped me - at the dinner table or anywhere else. I learned that you didn't need to be Prom Queen to be happy, and knowing that was my win. For a long time, I figured that women had to be either pretty or savvy to get what they wanted, and I ruled with the latter. The theory holds true to this day...but one day, it dawned upon me that beauty and brains were not mutually exclusive.
So, just like anything else I'd ever wanted, I took it. I dieted and worked out like a mad woman and lost about 45 lbs in my senior year of high school. (Yes, that's just about the size of an 8 yr old child.) Big win right? ...Enter the Freshman 15,
And so it continued. I bounced up and down by about 20 lbs in either direction over the next 6 or 7 years, but no matter how much weight I lost, something wasn't right. Even though most of the time I was eating right, working out, etc, my skin never followed suit. It refused to tighten as I shrank, and I'm left with what I call a "sad tummy" and these "not so perky" breasts. Call it genetics or call it a result of being a chunk from childhood to teenager; though it's likely a combination of the two, it's not exactly my dream body.
Regardless of the reason, my frustrations grew. Over the past 3 years or so, I've lived a very healthy lifestyle. I've worked out regularly, eaten healthy, done strength training, completed road races and even a Sprint Triathlon. Not to say it's all for naught; I love being active and feeling healthy, but if the one thing I work for is to be comfortable in a bikini or in a sports bra at the gym, then it may as well be.
No matter how hard I work, my breasts aren't going to look up at me and say, "JUST KIDDING!!" as they spring to life and stand at attention, while the extra skin on my stomach suddenly begins to tighten around my abdominals, as a tiny Collagen fairy plays a melodic harp ascension.
Let me be clear about my reasons for choosing cosmetic surgery; I have no illusions of grandeur. I do not think it will fulfill some gaping void in my life; my life is quite complete. I do not expect it to "lift my spirits," as the only thing that needs lifting are these ta-tas. My reasons are few but solid.
1.) I've done everything I can to make myself better in every facet of my life; I simply refuse to settle. At work, with my friends, in my relationships, etc - I always do whatever it takes to be the best I can be. This, to me, is no different.
2.) I'd really like an age-inappropriate belly button. Sue me.
3.) If I can't fix it, certainly a surgeon can.
The answer? Someone who doesn't feel the need to hide.
Growing up, I wasn't exactly your All-American sweetheart. Mind you, I wasn't an outcast or social pariah either - quite the contrary actually. I was a hyperactive, attention-seeking, culturally diverse, somewhat spastic, explosion of energy. I might also add that I was a chubb-o.
Now, don't think this is any sort of sob story; that's not my style and doesn't make for very good blog fodder. Being a little butterball never stopped me - at the dinner table or anywhere else. I learned that you didn't need to be Prom Queen to be happy, and knowing that was my win. For a long time, I figured that women had to be either pretty or savvy to get what they wanted, and I ruled with the latter. The theory holds true to this day...but one day, it dawned upon me that beauty and brains were not mutually exclusive.
So, just like anything else I'd ever wanted, I took it. I dieted and worked out like a mad woman and lost about 45 lbs in my senior year of high school. (Yes, that's just about the size of an 8 yr old child.) Big win right? ...Enter the Freshman 15,
And so it continued. I bounced up and down by about 20 lbs in either direction over the next 6 or 7 years, but no matter how much weight I lost, something wasn't right. Even though most of the time I was eating right, working out, etc, my skin never followed suit. It refused to tighten as I shrank, and I'm left with what I call a "sad tummy" and these "not so perky" breasts. Call it genetics or call it a result of being a chunk from childhood to teenager; though it's likely a combination of the two, it's not exactly my dream body.
Regardless of the reason, my frustrations grew. Over the past 3 years or so, I've lived a very healthy lifestyle. I've worked out regularly, eaten healthy, done strength training, completed road races and even a Sprint Triathlon. Not to say it's all for naught; I love being active and feeling healthy, but if the one thing I work for is to be comfortable in a bikini or in a sports bra at the gym, then it may as well be.
No matter how hard I work, my breasts aren't going to look up at me and say, "JUST KIDDING!!" as they spring to life and stand at attention, while the extra skin on my stomach suddenly begins to tighten around my abdominals, as a tiny Collagen fairy plays a melodic harp ascension.
Let me be clear about my reasons for choosing cosmetic surgery; I have no illusions of grandeur. I do not think it will fulfill some gaping void in my life; my life is quite complete. I do not expect it to "lift my spirits," as the only thing that needs lifting are these ta-tas. My reasons are few but solid.
1.) I've done everything I can to make myself better in every facet of my life; I simply refuse to settle. At work, with my friends, in my relationships, etc - I always do whatever it takes to be the best I can be. This, to me, is no different.
2.) I'd really like an age-inappropriate belly button. Sue me.
3.) If I can't fix it, certainly a surgeon can.