November 14 Editorial

By: Kelly Woodard

Tomorrow, I will embark on a journey to the new me. As a very large chested woman, I have spent the bulk of my adult years being uncomfortable, both physically and emotionally about my “condition”. Some call it a blessing, but those who share my dilemma will almost certainly agree that it is more of a curse. That is why I have made the decision to go under the knife and emerge a sleeker, more fabulous version of myself.
From the time I entered middle school, I was always a little large than the other girls in the upstairs area. By the time I reached high school, at 108 lbs and barely able to fit into Victoria’s Secret’s largest size, let’s just say I was popular. Even then, the extra attention on my physical attributes was off-putting.
When I was about 22, I was a size 5, yet I wasn’t able to buy a bra or bathing suit in a normal store. They had to be special ordered. I felt like I should’ve signed up to star in the circus freak show. Of course people made comments and yes, it was uncomfortable at times, but I don’t think I paid for a drink for about a decade. It had its perks.
It wasn’t until I was about 27 that I noticed something unsettling. It was a usual occurrence for men to stare at my chest in passing or even while having a conversation with me. (I would say that men are pigs for this habit, but I think it’s just genetically hardwired in them from birth.) But I started noticing that women had the habit too. I would be at a work meeting or meet a friend’s mother, and before our eyes met, I would always watch them stare at my chest first.
I started becoming more and more self-conscious in public, and even started hating outdoor social events at the beach or on the boat because of the reaction that my ever growing chest would constantly attract. I ate, I gained weight, they grew. I worked out, got smaller, they stayed as big as ever. That’s when I realized that I was hiding behind the bigger me I had created.
Each time I tried on clothes that no longer fit, I loathed myself. And what did I do? I ate more. By the time I was done, not only were my boobs no less noticeable due to my overall fluffiness, they had become the star of the “What the heck happened to Kelly?” show.
This year, at the beginning of the summer as I desperately tried to stuff my now uncontrollably expanding chest into last year’s bikini (which fit better on the rest of my body than before thanks to diet and exercise), I decided that enough is enough.
No more avoiding crowds at the beach. No more $200 custom made bikini tops and granny bras. No more struggling to jog even with three sports bras on at once. I was determined to make a change. And I did. I lost 18 pounds this year, and although I still have a bit more to go and I’m happy with my progress, I realized I was going to need something a little more drastic to curb my life long struggle.
I consulted several plastic surgeons and finally decided on Dr. Frost of Frost Plastic Surgery at West Florida Hospital. He understood my desire to better my situation, and made me feel at ease. His sense of humor won me over. Now it’s time to see if his scalpel skills can impress me.
So tomorrow, I will embark on this new journey. A journey that I hope will eventually help me to learn to love my body again. I’m going through a rush of emotions from excited, to terrified. In the end, I know that all of the pain and recovery will be worth it.
I mean, I’ll be able to go to Target and finally buy a cute bikini top for under $20. I’ll be able to go for a jog without getting two black eyes. I’ll be able to go to Tennessee without making Dolly Parton jealous. I’ll be referred to something other than, “Kelly with the huge boobs.” But best of all, I’ll get to see my own stomach for the first time in over 15 years.
It’s the little things in life that mean the most. Now send me off to the chop shop. This girl is getting overhauled!