"Losing my breasts"? A different perspective.

Someone recently brought to my attention this blog entitled, "Losing My Breasts." The comment that went with the post, which came from a fellow breast cancer survivor, was not complimentary. I began to read it with great interest, expecting some sort of reflection following a mastectomy.

That is not what I found. In case you don't want to read it, I will summarize. The woman begins by saying, "I didn't realize I would lose so much of myself with my breasts." She talks about how they defined her more than she realized - the way she stood, so confidently. Now, she looks in the mirror and feels "sadness and shame," "old and used. A relic of days gone by." I nodded along with all of this. I have felt those feelings. I can see how one might feel old and used after an ordeal like this. As the swelling as gone down on my new breast (or my "newbie boobie" as a friend and I decided to call it), I have noticed more that I can still see all those old scars along with the prominent new one. I have been poked and prodded and cut and misshapen, and I do feel some of those things she mentioned.

The nodding stopped with this line:

How is that even possible? All I did was have a baby and breastfeed.

Yes, that’s correct. I didn’t lose my breasts to cancer or in a disfiguring accident; I lost them doing the most natural thing in the world – becoming a mother.

I felt like I had been kicked in the stomach. My jaw dropped open, and a lump rose in my throat. She goes on to reflect on the love/hate relationship she has had with her overly large breasts, and the various struggles she has had with body image, and how now that they have lost their previous shape, she has come to realize the role they have played in her development. She struggles with her new, post-baby appearance, but worries about what getting a boob job would say to her daughter. Her final question is, "How can I find myself again without my boobs and still be a good mom?"

It's a fine story. I'm sure it's one that many women need to hear, as I'm sure she is not alone in her experience. Losing one's figure is a legitimate loss, and kudos to her for being willing to share it in such a public forum, because it will probably help some others.

But my gut reaction was emotional. Here I am mourning the loss of being able to nurse my children from my own body, and she is complaining about it. Furthermore, with the title, "Losing my breasts," it sounds a bit too much like she is equating her struggles to those of a woman who has literally lost her breasts. (One experience is not better or worse than the other, but they are not equal.)

Understandably there was a strong reaction from the breast cancer survivor community, especially from those who will never breast-feed, or even never bear children. These reactions have been very emotional, and perhaps not entirely fair. I do admire her for sharing her story in a public forum. But reading her story did make me very sad: sad for myself, because it brought up a lot of my own emotion again, and sad for her, because she is clearly struggling with some pretty big body image issues, and she doesn't seem to be able to see just how blessed she is by her loving husband and beautiful daughter. How discouraging for her not to be able to see herself as her husband sees her!

This has also prompted a lot of reflection for me that has continued throughout the day. First of all, I don't want to be mad at this woman, but if I am mad, it is for her being so unable to see her blessings for what and where they are, right in front of her nose. We are all guilty of this oversight at times - we complain about having to walk a long way from our parking spot to the door, until we find ourselves complaining to someone who has no legs. I have found myself complaining that I have to wait to have children, but then I remember that I CAN have children, a blessing many who have undergone cancer treatments do not have. I commented in one forum, "What I wouldn't give to be able to tell my daughter someday what it feels like to be pregnant, and how your body changes. What a miracle to see how your body prepares to bring a child into this world and sustain it. How beautiful to look in the mirror and rejoice that my body did what was created to do: bear and feed my children. 'Used,' she calls her body, with disdain. I would say that with joy." In another forum, I added, "In a sort of strange way, I was looking forward to seeing saggy boobs someday, knowing that it would mean my lifelong dreams had been fulfilled. Instead, I see scar upon scar - the physical kind, which bring up the emotional ones as well."

After posting these two comments, I continued to reflect on this woman's story. And finally I posted directly on the blog. Rather than recount it for you, I'll just paste below what I wrote. I'm sure I will continue to reflect on it - anything that brings up such a visceral reaction is something worth deeper exploration. I think I would be fine with her sharing this story if she hadn't titled it, "Losing my breasts." Perhaps, "My Saggy Baby Boobs," or, "Farewell to my Figure," or if she had reflected more intentionally on her recognition of how this part of her had shaped who she is, and the loss of it has caused her to have to re-imagine who she will be (I think she was aiming for that, but it came off as self-pitying and shallow) - that is certainly something I could even relate to. But to talk about the very thing I want more than almost anything else in the world, and how it has ruined her self image... that was tough for me to swallow.

Anyway, here is what I posted on her blog:

I don't want to minimize your loss in any way - even though having a child is a joy, it does include loss: loss of a figure, for sure, plus loss of the freedom that childless life allows, and many other losses as well. However I, like others who have commented, find the title of this blog to be very upsetting, because here I sit, age 29 and planning a wedding for August, and I'm recovering from a mastectomy three weeks ago, after three independent developments of breast cancer in 6 months. I'm glad you are willing to share your story, and I hope sharing it has brought you some clarity; for me, reading your story brought up again the sadness that I will never look in the mirror and see saggy breasts that fed my children, a dream I have long looked forward to. Instead I see scars - the marks of five biopsies, a port-a-cath, and a mastectomy. But even in the sadness for the loss of my breastfeeding dream, I also see a lot of joy: the joy that I will be around to feed my children in other ways; the joy that I fought for my life and won; the joy that each scar is proof of deepened character, of a life experience that made me who I am.

I had pretty good boobs before, if I do say so myself, but they were never what made me beautiful. What makes me beautiful is all those life experiences, marked by scars inside and out, and the incredible people who surround me, and a deep faith that upholds me, and the knowledge that I am a fighter who has so much to offer my hopeful future children.

In response to your question, how can you find yourself again without your boobs and still be a good mom: I think you already know, because you said you don't want your daughter to define herself by her breasts. What do you want her to define herself by? Her brains? Her sensitivity? Her personality? Her ability to bring out the best in everyone around her? Her laugh? Her willingness to accept challenges? Help her to cultivate those traits, and love herself for them. And then ask yourself: "what about me?" By what do you want to be defined? For what do you want people to admire you? For what do you admire yourself? Learn to love who you are, independent of your body. Show your daughter what it looks like to love yourself and be comfortable with who you are, and she will do the same. That sounds like a great mom to me.