What is the emotional relationship that I have with my breasts?

I enter into a deep state of meditation and then take a moment to allow light and healing energies to flow up and down and around my body. I see the waves of light and feel them as a warm and slightly tingly feeling.

I ask myself:
What is the emotional relationship that I have with my breasts?
What do I need to know about healing this lump?
What does my body require from me?

(The thought of titty talking comes to my mind and I smile.)

Images and memories run through my mind like a movie of my life. I am amazed at how many thoughts, feelings and experiences reveal themselves. I can’t remember having many thoughts about these things, so it is astounding when I see how much attention, confusion, self consciousness and pain, I have had in relation to my breasts. Because there was so much I will only recount some of the main incidences. I do feel that this entry is going to sound really weird – a conversation with my tits! However, at the risk of ridicule, I will try and be as candid as I can, as I do think it might be something that others might relate to, if they should decide to explore their own issues.

(1) Puberty is a difficult or confusing time for most of us. People start behaving oddly towards us and our changing bodies seem to be of great interest to others. Little bumps under out T shirts become a source of teasing and self-consciousness. Looking back on it now, I wonder if this was the first time that I became aware that I was being inspected, judged and compared. I remember trying to cover up and hide myself. Could it be that my original perception of my breasts was embarrassment and vulnerability? I had no real idea about sexuality other than the suggestion that good girls didn’t do it. I didn’t really know what It was. My breast development changed my relationships with boys; they became preoccupied with my body and made intimidating remarks. I think I felt like I was being stalked and maybe I wondered if I was a bad girl?

(2) I had large breasts by the time I was fourteen. Men would leer at me when I walked past the hotel and boys would call out silly remarks and giggle. I began wearing big shirts, again in an effort to become invisible. Sadly, being young and petite with big breast seemed to imply that I was sexually available. It seemed to me that people had a ‘slut’ undertone in their opinion of me.

(3) My father become over protective or perhaps quite neurotic about me. Our relationship took a severe dive. I guess he was trying to warn me or hold me back, but I felt distrusted, imprisoned and smothered by his restrictions and accusations.

I once came home from the beach quite sunburned. I had taken off my bikini top as it was rubbing on my burned skin. Of course I was wearing a shirt and I’m sure no one else would have noticed my bralessness – but my father sure did. I had accepted a lift from a girlfriend whose new boyfriend had a panel van. There were about six of us in the van and I climbed out of the back when I was dropped off. Dad was in the front yard and went insane when he realized that I had been in the back of this “Shaggin’ wagon” with a bunch of “no-hopers,” doing God knows what - half naked. I was stunned and totally humiliated as he charged forward screaming at the driver who sped off. He followed me into the house looking totally insane with rage and screaming words like slut and town bike. I tried to walk away and he grabbed at me. Realizing then that I was not wearing a bra he slapped me hard across my breast and knocked me off balance.

The next day I left town with my best friend and we hitch-hiked out of state. I was only fifteen years old at the time. I didn’t finish school; I got a job and rented my first home – a caravan.

(4) Two or three years later, I met a photographer who offered me the equivalent of three weeks wages if I would pose topless for him. It seemed like a good idea at the time and all in all I have no regrets. He was a decent sort of guy and the pictures were tasteful and very modest compared to today’s standards. At the time, I thought it was all just a bit of nonsense and I felt a sense of power; cashing in on men’s stupidity rather than being on the receiving end of their ignorance.

(5) Buying bras was a real problem. Being small across the back and so big out the front made it very limiting. These days it is much better, but back then, the only large cup size bras were for large matronly woman. I needed underwire and thick straps, so bras were always very uncomfortable and ugly. They were also very hot in the summer and sometimes felt like armour. By my mid thirties I was having back pain and posture problems. I decided to have breast reduction surgery.

Meditating into these memories brings up a lot of emotion. The incident with my father was particularly poignant. It was just a stupid moment in time and yet here it is still locked into my body as fear, betrayal, humiliation, victimization, abandonment and you name it and it’s probably there too. But it does allow me now to reflect back and release these beliefs and distorted interpretations. It might sound strange to some people that I would be making an association between these things and breast cancer, but I do believe that there is a relationship.

I believe that if I have any conscious or unconscious wish to harm or diminish myself then it needs to be examined and resolved. Right now, I could argue that I really love my body. I want to live and I genuinely love my life. I love being female, and yes, I do love my breasts and everything that they represent. But, what if, on a very deep level of awareness, I have been accepting ambiguous messages. I can see from this meditation that I have held shocking emotional implants. Most have been initiated by ignorant and immature people and all of it is destructive. But, I have obviously carried it all as a measure of shame or a desire to make my breasts invisible or perhaps even a desire to have them cut away or eaten away?

I have spoken with so many women over the years about body image and I am constantly amazed at how twisted and distorted their perceptions are. I’m not just talking about fleeting or occasional reflections; I'm talking about obsessive and destructive self-loathing. Many women are disconnected from their bodies; treating them as dead weight or embarrassing pull-along objects. Many women just do their best to cover them up and hide them away. Some women are so sensitive or self-conscious about their bodies that they torment themselves with shame, guilt and constant criticism. Weight is probably the biggest issue, but breasts are definitely a matter of self-consciousness and dissatisfaction. Just look at the number of reconstructions, reductions and implants in the past decade or so. It seems like one size should fit all and anything other than perky and firm is totally unacceptable. The truth is that very few women have socially perfect breasts and when they do they only have about a ten year guarantee. Let’s just accept that 99% of women do not have naturally perfect breast. (Perfect according to magazines, that is.) More importantly, let’s get real and accept that breasts have nothing to do with a woman's value, sexuality, desirability or attractiveness.

Its easy to see that our thoughts about our breasts can and do create self-esteem problems, but are we unconsciously sending our bodies messages of hatred and destruction? Are we sending so much hate to a body part that we are actually instructing our body to destroy itself?

That might sound bizarre, but don't our thoughts and feelings create our reality? I know they do. A subconscious belief, a repetitive affirmation or a long forgotten trauma are as powerful as any other intention, plan or affirmation – don’t you think?

How many women have been seriously dissatisfied with their breasts? (The same could be asked of men and their penises.) Our self image and our sexuality and desirability are harshly judged and compared in our culture. Isn’t it worth thinking about when you compare the low incidence of breast and prostate cancer in other cultures?

Women have been persecuted throughout history. In many part of the world women are still considered the lesser sex and in some cultures women are treated as less than animals. The breasts are probably the most obvious or basic representation of the female. The breasts represent sexuality and nurturing. Society overall has some pretty distorted views about sexuality and mothering. Just how much ‘fear of women’ is threaded through the collective consciousness? Have women taken on an unconscious need to separate themselves from their femaleness?

Mothering seems to have become less valued. “Oh, I’m just a stay at home mum,” almost sounds like an apology. Isn’t being a mother the most important and rewarding thing a woman can do? Shouldn’t we be in awe of such a thing? Shouldn’t society protect and value mothers? I wonder how many women breast fed their babies only to hear comments like “Your boobs have sagged. You need silicone implants!”

Countless women have breast enlargement to please their partners. Many will never be able to breast feed their babies. (Breast feeding strengthens the baby’s immune system and decreases the risk of breast cancer in the mother) Don’t you think that it is tragic that a woman will sacrifice her own body and her child’s health just to satisfy an ignorant interpretation of beauty?

I’m not really meaning to sound judgmental here and the whole male female power thing is far too great a topic for this purpose. I am trying to understand my own subconscious or deep seated beliefs about my body. If I uncover any thoughts or emotions which translate into anything suggesting that my body is unlovable, shameful or undesirable then I want to uncreate that lie. I concede that most of these thoughts have been given to me by ignorant or immature or fearful people and I want to replace those ideas with my own truth and understanding.

Sonya Green www.reinventingmyself.com