All my life—or at least for as long as I can remember—I have constantly sought validation.
At first, I just wanted to make sure that I was a well-liked person; someone who everyone could get along with.
Then, there came a point when I sought less approval for my personality, and more for my appearance. It became less about making sure that people liked me, and more about someone finding me attractive.
Being the girl in high school who was known for having big boobs amplified this factor for me—that was terrifying.
It was terrifying because it was something that was immediately noticeable about me, so everything else became less significant.
Every part of my appearance was dedicated to making them less noticeable. That played a huge part in my confidence in my body, or the lack thereof.
I was noticed, but not for the things that I wanted to be noticed for. So naturally, as almost every busty woman questions at some point in her life, I asked myself, “should I get a breast reduction?”
This was a question I battled myself on since 10th grade. I considered every factor, from “oh, my back pain will [be] reduced and many activities will be less hard,” to “huh, okay, the scars look pretty gross.”
After five years of contemplation, I picked up the phone and called my doctor to make all the necessary arrangements.
The time I had before my surgery was spent researching everything I could about the procedure. I read about the accounts of other women who had the surgery done. Those experiences ranged from, “it was the best thing that ever happened to me!” to “I experienced a loss of sensation and my scarring was horrible.”
Needless to say, I was nervous as all hell. But, those nerves seemed to go away the more I started to tell people about what I was about to go through. I was really lucky that everyone was really supportive of my decision, which made me feel more secure about this very permanent choice I was going to be making.
It wasn’t the validation that I had become accustomed to looking for, but it was more reassuring than any other. Because it meant that people would be able to look at me differently—no longer the girl with huge breasts—but they wouldn’t treat me any differently.
I don’t really remember much about the surgery, other than having my best friend there, along with my family. Seeing her reaction to what I looked like post-surgery, was more validating than any drunken hookup I’ve ever had.
Despite me being drugged out of my mind, nauseated, hungry, thirsty, and just a mess really, to have her look at me and say “you look great” meant more to me than anything else.
As I slowly started to recover, I began to look more at myself in the mirror. I realized that I looked like what I always thought I should have looked like.
Yes, I’m a little chubby with my love handles, and my hair is a constant ball of frizz. And, even with the scars that make me look like a porno version of Frankenstein, I have never felt more confident in my body.
I believe every person experiences a moment when something clicks in their brain that allows them to believe they are sexy, they are strong, they are the hottest piece of shit around.
The moment I put on a pair of jeans a week after my recovery, it clicked.
I went from being the girl that needed validation from some guy on his third beer, to being the girl that was proud as hell to be who she is. Instead of being the Bridget Jones, I feel more like Annie Hall—minus the whole Woody Allen thing.
Now obviously, surgery is not something that will work for everyone, but everyone has something that makes them unhappy. Life is too short to let that thing stop you from being happy.
Many people have to wait so many years and have multiple appointments to get what I got in less than a year, and that is something I will always be grateful for. When you want something so badly, and you truly work for it, it’ll happen to you at the perfect moment. Whether that comes from making a life change or reciting some mantra you found on Pinterest. If you want to be the best version of yourself, you’ll find a way to become that person.
I don’t seek validation from “Chad” anymore. I am my own validation.
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