Pretty Breasts And Considering Myself Told

Feeling like I have pretty breasts as I lay out on the bed in the afternoon sun - black and white photo.

Why is it so hard to love our bodies unconditionally? Why do we pick apart the features that we can (realistically) do nothing about. Do you have a body part that you struggle to be kind to? For me, in spite of my best efforts, my breasts have pretty much been causing all of my upset recently.


I’m not overly concerned with how I look, if I have a pretty face or perky breasts or…

My value comes more from what my body can do rather than its appearance. So, you see, it’s not really the size, though at particularly self-critical times that has been a stick to beat myself with. It’s more the shape, the lack of fullness, the lack of responsiveness, the fact they couldn’t feed my babies, the fact that they can’t be bound, the way that heavy marking makes me feel…

Now, I know this is all unhelpful. There really is no need to think like this. If other people don’t like them, that’s fine. If they do, that’s also fine. But for me, it’s not the validation of others’ that makes for a positive feeling. It has to come from within – intrinsic self-validation I guess. Praise from others is generally meaningless, but also, so is criticism. (Unless I know and trust the person, and value their opinions in whatever matter has arisen.)

A couple of weeks ago I hit a dark spot.

Tack bra with tits flapping around inside – despite it being my snuggest fitting bra – meant I vanished off to a dark place. By the time it was time to remove the inserts I was sad-sad. Not in pain, just irritated at my breasts and their ineptitude at doing ANYTHING I wanted them to do. Useless chunks of flesh. Harrumph. Sob.

Sharing my thoughts with D he was surprised to learn that I’m not enamoured with them, as he is. He wasn’t over the top with his praise, just shared his thoughts and observations. Asked questions around what I’d shared with him, getting me to confirm for myself that they aren’t as useless as the mind monsters like to have me think. Then he told me that he was the only one allowed to be mean to them, or at least he would have to be there if anyone was being mean to them.

The next time I saw him he recapped this. I consider myself well and truly told.

Firstly he gave me a talking to, about being unkind to my breasts when they had done nothing wrong. Then he began talking kindly to my boobies. It’s hard to be angry at my pretty useless breasts when a tall, dark and ‘Barefoot-sensible’ man is towering over you, chattering away to the part of you you try to ignore else you’ll spiral into a pit. Then he began treating them to some pain before showing me that they can do one of the things I want them to do. (You’ll have to wait to see this, I’m yet to ask for the pictures.)

The following week, he asked me to wear an elegant yet slutty dress for dinner. Admired the curves beneath my breasts as we ate. Seeing the hunger in his eyes eased my nerves about flopping out. Well, a little bit anyway. But I’m sure there was nip-slip.


Yesterday, while laying on my bed in the afternoon sun, I spied my breasts in the mirror. Well, not quite. I was dressed in a loose fitting black vest top, and my nipples were, unusually for them, making themselves known through the soft fabric. It was one of those rare moments for me where I thought my breasts looked pretty. So I peeled off my vest and stroked them, treating them with the kindness that I’d forgotten they might need from me.

I didn’t stop there. Gently stroking the curve of my breasts with the back of my finger nails, my nipples remained puckered little erections. Soon goose bumps erupted over my breasts to join the two swollen, pink tips. I couldn’t resist taking a photo for D and sharing, just because I thought my breasts looked pretty and I wanted to show him.

It would’ve been easy to share the photo for BoobDay – celebrate my pretty breasts.

But that wouldn’t be the full story, not at all. Behind each photo I take, there is a story, usually quite unexpected…

So, if you’re struggling to see your breasts for the pretty awesome orbs they are, just know you’re not alone. Even those of us who appear confident in our corner of the internet have demons that can pop up occasionally. Usually when it’s least helpful for them to do so. If that’s you, reach out to someone you trust (Or if you just need to say hello to someone who “gets it” drop me a message.)

Just remember to be kind to yourself. And remember, there are some of us, who might think/look like we’ve got all our ducks in a row. Even we might come to realise we need a bit of help tackling those demons that we keep so deeply hidden.

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Click the button above to see what everyone else is doing this week. Or check out my BoobDay archives to see more of my boobs!

(And more of my tricky relationship with them.)

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