Member-only story
Breaking Up with my Breast Implants
Let’s start at the logical place; the when, where and why of me choosing to have invasive surgery.
I was 19 when I put my deposit down at the private hospital in London. All through my childhood, I grew up under the control of abusive parents. They say that bullies must have their own insecurities and fears, or they wouldn’t need to take it out on others.
My parents had a lot going on under their skin. My father was the worst of the two evils, in my eyes. He took his pain out on my mother, who in turned kicked downwards to me, her first born.
But you’re not here for all of that. You’re here for a specific part — why I felt that I needed to get breast implants in the first place.
In short, I didn’t feel like a ‘real’ girl. All my female classmates got curves. I didn’t. I looked at my mother and worked out that from our gene pool, the curves weren’t coming either. She was an insecure about her chest as I was about mine.
After leaving home at 16 and taking a little while to find my feet in the big, wide world, my 19th year on Earth was one of great change. I’d got a reasonable job and had secured a bank loan for my surgery. Most importantly of all, I’d found the nerve to do it.
