dear boobs

Below is a letter I wrote to myself on the night before my recent gender-affirming top surgery. Having never previously been hospitalized, I was shaking with fear during the week leading up to my appointment. I wrote this letter as an attempt to reconcile the confusing thoughts that occupied so much of my energy, and practice approaching myself with gratitude and compassion. This was a first for me in a lot of ways– first surgery, first gender-affirming medical procedure, first major decision made entirely for myself, first time on anesthesia, first step into a body I can finally recognize. I don’t know what my next step is, but I am deeply thankful for the medical access, financial support, and love of friends and family that allowed me to take this step. – 

Dear Boobs, 

You entered this world late and you are leaving early. You took things from me (running with the wind against my chest, comfort on stairs, button-downs) and you gave things to me (self-consciousness, men’s stares, an affinity for oversized vests.) We both know I never wanted you, that I prayed nightly for years that you wouldn’t arrive. You took your time to show up, and for that I am grateful. But when you finally made your presence known, a part of me sunk under your weight. I used to think I never wanted to grow up, and that boobs meant inescapable adulthood. But now, happily adult, I realize that you represented something different– inescapable womanhood. Gaining you didn’t force me to age– time did. But gaining you took a different freedom from me, a familiarity and genderless comfort in my body. 

You are beautiful, there’s no denying it. Sisters, sure, not twins– but beautiful, supple, perky, large sisters. Perhaps this is why I feel so guilty removing you. I know how valuable you can be to the world, to men. I know people save for years to buy silicon replicas of you– never as nice, of course, as the real thing. As Westley says in The Princess Bride: “There’s a shortage of perfect breasts in this world. It would be a pity to ruin yours.” 

But I am happily adult. I have spent 25 years fiercely becoming who I am today. I have dived to the most uncomfortable recesses of my soul and returned to the surface, gasping. I’ve learned difficult truths about my identity, and faced the consequences of hiding behind easy lies. Despite my best efforts, I’m unable to predict or control the future. I don’t know what decisions I will come to regret. I don’t know what the world will become. I don’t know what opportunities I might gain or lose as a result of this surgery. But I know that there is a part of me older than you that craves the feeling of wind. And if I don’t make this decision for myself now, I don’t trust that I’ll ever be able to stand up for my own desires. I owe it to myself to do something for that deep and sacred part of me– I’m the only one that can.

So, boobs, I bid you farewell. Thanks for your health and beauty. Thanks for your sex appeal. Thanks for holding my bath towel up– I might have to switch to robes now. When you go join those giant tits in the sky, maybe you can reincarnate onto someone who can truly appreciate you. 

Sincerely, 

Jill 

P.S. I’ll never forget you, third nipple. I wish you didn’t have to go, but it appears you are a necessary casualty of this procedure. May you rest in peace.