Do You Need an Emotional Boobectomy?

Surgery For Your Soul and Well-Being

Saying goodbye to the girls was a mixed bag. As a recovering Catholic, I grew up with a lot of body shame. This was especially so when it came to talking about lady bits or anything of an intimate nature.

To give you an idea, my first bra magically appeared on my bed one day. It was, I kid you not, in a plain brown wrapper. Plain brown wrapper=Unmentionables.

Yeah. I knew at that young age the porn magazines came in plain brown wrappers. And now, as an adult, I chuckle over the ads for adult diapers that come in a nondescript box. (Like the UPS man isn’t going to figure out grandpa’s incontinent.)

Our economy is driven by shame. And for women, this is especially so as we are told to stay slim and youthful.

But back to my poignant developmental milestone.

Was it a “training bra?” I can’t remember though even then, the idea of “training” breasts struck me as absurd. Training for what?

When I was brutally assaulted at the tender age of 13, I got the message loud and clear: You are not safe. Breasts are merely targets for cruelty.

Despite years of therapy and addressing body shame, these factors are woven into my background. My approach now is to love those parts holding the shame. This is the only effective healing balm, me thinks.

When my wasband confessed his infidelity, I received a new message.

You’re aging. You’re no long desirable. What did YOU do?

Yeah, yeah, I know, these things are not true. But when the rug is pulled out from under you, the voices are legion and LOUD as you try to grapple with the “what did I do?” question. (Spoiler alert, when a spouse/partner is cheated on, it is NEVER about the betrayed. No one, and I mean no one deserves betrayal. That’s a whole nudder article.)

More messages received.

January 6, 2022. The day of my own personal insurrection. I’m imagining the sound that used to proceed the nightly news… those dots and dashes of a typewriter to indicate the urgency of what is to be shared.

“This just in!” Mr.Cronkite states with great sobriety.

“Theresa’s boobs are trying to kill her. Details at 10.”

And that’s the way it is. I still hear his voice in my head.

To recount the lessons: Your body is shameful. Your body is aging and you needed to be traded in for a younger model. Your breasts are trying to take your life.

Yup. Got it.

The solution? It’s time for a little French Revolution action. Bring out the guillotine!

And just like that, my breasts are traded in for over a foot and a half of pink scars semi-circumnavigating around my chest.

What a deal.

I don’t mind not having breasts. Given my complicated history with them, it does not surprise me I grieved little over the loss.

It’s great not having to mess with bras. And it brings peace to know the chances of breast cancer popping up on my chest again is slim, having had most of the breast tissue removed. (No matter the skill of the surgeon, no one get all of the tissue.)

As much as I don’t want any more life lessons, this one moved into my living room and is sitting in my favorite chair, snapping its fingers and asking for a cuppa.

I can either pay heed and listen to what it has to say so I can get my chair back. Or I can pretend it’s business as usual, insert fingers into ears and *repeat after me,* “La, la, LA, I can’t HEAR you!” and take up a spot on the sofa.

Because I’m rather fond of my favorite chair, I choose to listen. And this life lesson has a lot to say.

What else is near and dear to my heart that, even though it seems benign, it is something that drains my energy and brings out involuntary sighs?

The more extreme is what is near and dear to my heart that has me stuck in a cycle of unhappiness and fear? Or even worse, could rob me of my life. Literally.

The big one for me was my 32-year marriage. I loved my wasband with all my heart… but he disengaged and sought happiness elsewhere. Not trying to sound all virtuous, I own the damage I did in our relationship. And I also want to remind myself and you, if it applies, infidelity is NEVER justified.

But yet, here I was hanging on. Hoping we could repair things. Ignoring the signs that he just wanted out, period.

Yup. Not calling him a boob, but my marriage needed a boobectomy too. It needed to end so the toxicity of the relationship could no longer harm me.

It is the hardest thing I’ve done. Even harder than the physical amputation.

I ponder the lessor annoyances that pick away at my energy. It is as simple as what happened in the Costco the other day.

I’m having lunch with my son and some old fellow comes up to our table to strike up a conversation. He is obviously lonely and I feel a tug of compassion. He’s standing in our personal space, asking where we live and other small talk.

But I did not come to have lunch with my son to accommodate this man’s emotional needs. And after the past few weeks, I am feeling completely drained anyway. Go away, I say to myself.

After a few awkward moments, I smiled and said, “If you would please excuse us, we’re in the middle of a discussion.” And he went on to another table.

That may not sound like a big deal to you but it’s an example of how I have given away so much of my energy in the name of being nice or being a listening ear.

It’s time for more boobectomies via the boundaries route. Like telling a stranger to back off. Family, close friends or coworkers can fall into this category. You can’t sever the relationship but you can sure as hell set some boundaries.

Now, I am very mindful of this because I feel like I’ve been doing a lot of complaining lately myself. But people who have nothing to say but negative things and keep rehashing offenses from 20 years ago… away with ye!

This goes for things like apps on the phone. If it’s not working the way it ought to… out it goes. I want simplicity. I don’t want fifteen steps to do what should only take 1 or 2 steps.

Ditto for turning off all notifications on my phone.

Lobbing off the things that drain my energy is freeing. It’s the addition by subtraction thing again.

The beautiful thing about this is that by freeing yourself from the energy vampires, space opens up for the loved ones you want to spend more time with.

It allows you the bandwidth to pause and pass a moment of kindness along to a stranger without feeling you “should” or feeling resentful.

If I-and you- don’t protect and honor our lives, we are bound to suffer. And holy shit, society certainly places a lot of expectations upon us, doesn’t it? Especially women!

To-do lists are another good place to examine with a critical eye. You’re not short on time-we all have the same 24 hours each day. You are overbooked. Where’s hedge trimmers when you need ‘em?

And good lord, I see I have waxed on. Probably time to perform a boobectomy on this narrative!

What about you, dear reader? What are some things in your world that you need to sever? (And I hope it isn’t your breasts!)

Thanks so much for reading. You can find me around the internet at www.theresawinn.com, on Facebook, LinkedIn and Instagram. If you’d like to support my writing in a small way, feel free to contribute to my wishlist.