My Tit Story

The statement to LOVE THE WAY I LOOK has finally gotten through to me.

I think it was timely that today I decided to love my breasts, especially the right tit. It seems the only day I usually notice my body is after my monthly nude weigh-in. When I glanced into the mirror and examine my coloring, texture, shape and girth, my sight often rests on my breasts and especially that one inverted nipple. This time I decided not to blame it or regret its disconcerting look. Perhaps I should have considered this inverted tip petulant; looked upon its insistence on being different or irregular, bravery of a sort.

I don’t know why I faulted this nipple – at times, castigated it. Even here I refer to it as not quite mine with “this” nipple rather than “my” nipple. Was I ashamed of another flawed part of myself? Here was another thing wrong with my body, my reproductive organs were already abnormal, deformed; my endocrine or hormonal system unbalanced, my body went menopausal before its 25th year when in fact, my hormone levels dropped to pubescent levels. Then my nipple stopped demonstrating sensitivity to hot or cold or arousal by refusing to pout or hardened. Initially I was worried, frightened senselessly, after all, an inverted nipple can be an early warning sign for breast cancer, but after diligent monthly self-exams and dozens of medical exams those fears were dispelled. My nipple was just plain strange.

It seems I had to defend this breast or more accurately explain that this tit could not be relied upon to reflect my heightened libido. Guys wanted to know if I was excited, they worked the breast and nipple to the point of discomfort or pain in an effort to see the aroused tip. Too often I heard myself explaining that, “this breast doesn’t work.” Now I realize it was a dreadful thing to say. Nothing on one’s body is identical, why must my nipples be so.

I almost forgot how for years I prayed my breasts would grow. I was a flat-chest teen save for my large dark mahogany areolas. I loved the attention my braless breasts received when my nipples protruded. As a Catholic school girl, I donned a bra for high school days and Mass but freed them every chance I got. In fact, I don’t recall wearing a bra during those college years. When I gained excess weight or grew phat (sexually appealingly plump) my breasts grew from an AA size cup to a perky A cup and finally into a B cup. I felt voluptuous; I could finally be proud of my feminine bosom. But this admiration was short-lived because one tit stopped acting right a few years later. And I stopped loving them. I stopped appreciating their color, shape and size, I no longer enjoyed having that one tit fondled because it wasn’t right, it wasn’t normal, and it remained inverted and deflated. What’s wrong with Waldo now?

Alas, I believe the universe wants me to do more than pay lip service to this realization that my breasts did not fail me by being intractable and diffident. The universe wants me to affirm their worth. I think I’ve been challenged to adore my physical self in all its resplendent flawed beauty. Now I accept that I do not have to be perfect to be beautiful or magnificent. I declare: I love my body!

It was serendipitous that I received an emailed message about the women’s empowering project on breast health where women share their intimate stories about ones relationship with their breasts: TELLING INTIMATE TRUE STORIES (TITS). I am grateful I have an inverted nipple because it has taught me to appreciate what I have and don’t have. I love my body, the way it looks and feels. But I am more than my body and my bosom. I love myself with or without these tits. And for this, I am grateful.