how perfect boobs didn’t fix my life

I have spent years not wanting to write this out in public. But it's time, oh baby is it time.

By the age of 30, my husband and I had had our first four children. Our last two monkeys were only 20 months apart. It ended up being a very dark time in my brain. We had 2 in diapers, 2 cribs, trying to navigate the learning curve of having our oldest in elementary school, sports, piano practice, financial struggles and the facade of pretending we knew what we were doing as "adults". It was...exhausting.

To add insult to injury I felt like my brain had betrayed me during this process. I had never planned on being a crazy, manic, depressed, mean and "hair-trigger to complete melt down after 5pm every day" kind of mom. So really, there must be a reason why I feel so sad and lost. There must be a solution right?

After a few years of that my brain knew what the answer to all of my problems was! It was my body! yay!!!! It was because my body wasn't perfect that I felt overwhelmed. It was because my boobs were saggy and resembled locks in a sock that I wasn't happy! So I started my perfect body quest because if an imperfect body was causing me distress that meant a perfect body would be the ultimate solution.

It felt amazing to have something to look forward to. A goal. A balm of salve to this festering wound of incapability to cope and feel less than my full potential. It was relieving to have a distraction from my constant heartache.

At this point I was teaching Zumba 3 times a week to wonderful ladies in my community and I saved up my money for a breast augmentation (boob job duh). I was lifting weights on top of teaching Zumba and feeling great! My body had never looked better in my life. I was so excited to finally have everything perfect again. Right? Right?

But here's where things got super weird in my head. I had SO MUCH shame around this decision. I grew up believing this was the most brainless, shallowest, dirtiest thing a woman could do. I also grew up exposed to pornography where big boobs meant power and success and constant adoration. What's a good mormon girl to do?

I wanted so desperately to feel successful. I wanted to feel in control again. And the only power available seemed to be through my body. So I should still get the boobs of course, because I deserved them. At that point I had nursed my babies for over 10% of my life, and I wasn't shallow like "other women" because I was merely putting them back to where they had been. I wasn't getting them bigger than nature had blessed me. Oh, yes, to my brain I was just doing this perfectly as well. (ew) And don't worry, to manage the Mount Everest amount of shame, I'll just do it in complete and total secrecy. (like, I taught my church class 48 hours after my procedure, secrecy)

BOOM! problem solved... or so I thought.

I was equal parts happy and excited over my new perfect chest, and at the same time disgust and betrayal were eating away at me. Oh boy, what a fun time in my head. I was worthless, and...feeling beautiful. Beautifully worthless. Shamefully disgusted with myself. But happy to have done something for myself? My husband never would tell me he wanted them or I should have them done, it was 100% up to me, and I paid for them with my own money. He gets super scared when I have surgery done and was just happy with my banana boobs thank you very much. So of course, I couldn't put any of the shame or blame on him when I would deal with the internal guilt and disgust.

It was just so weird to be in my brain at this time.

Long story short, getting my boobs done perfectly was the best decision I made, because it hurried along my dark night of the soul process just nicely. Soon after the boob job became pregnant on an IUD and suffered an ectopic pregnancy and miscarriage. After that my left implant started to hurt and within a year after the loss I had them explanted (taken out).

The shame had literally eaten away at my soul and my body. I was a horrible, shallow, disgusting woman for getting boobs and this was God's proof. And so of course, getting them out would be my redemption. I could be worthy again.

I was seeing a psychiatrist and a counselor at this point and diagnosed with chronic depression. I felt so relieved to have a diagnosis and also hopeless to have a diagnosis. I couldn’t have more kids because I was crazy. On top of that I obsessed over accidentally getting pregnant 24/7 because I’d suffered an ectopic pregnancy and miscarriage a few months before starting anti-depressants.

But once I had my explantation surgery the shame was gone. I was worthy again (my brain old me). Without my evil implants, I was a good girl again. But...I was also felt, what was that? Empty again? (No pun intended). So what was my brain going to latch onto as a solution now????

Well...it decided work was going to fill the gap. And that is another post for another day my friends.

But I had hope I could fix my life in a different way again! It wasn’t my boobs silly! It must be having a perfect body a "natural way". You can read about that here. fulfilling my life purpose (which couldn’t be as a mother because I was failing at that) so insert...work!!!

Yes! I finally had another answer and pursuit to chase since a perfect body quest had failed me. But once again, having the perfect job didn’t fix anything either (again, another post for another day), thank goodness.

Work didn't work on fulfilling me or giving me relief. You can read about that here and here. So I kept searching for peace, and decided to have another baby. And then I miscarried. You can read about that here.

And when all things failed me, even the anti-depressents that had worked so well weren't fixing me anymore. Well, that is when I found meditation, mindfulness and the power I had and connection to God I had within me all along.

Long story short, TOO LATE. I'm so grateful for all of the steps along my journey back to peace.

I’m so glad I got my boobs done. I’m so glad I went crazy. I’m so grateful for my 2 angel babies in heaven that helped find the truth and peace I desperately needed. I now see how my shame and secrecy was killing me. And I’m sharing this story to tell you you aren’t alone. It’s normal to try and find a sense of control and sense through worldly solutions: perfect body, perfect house, perfect job, perfect family. Luckily, none of those will ever work for you, so you’ll have to find the real source of control and power: your thoughts. I love you! I hope this inspires you to give yourself a butt ton of grace and mercy.

You deserve peace. You deserve happiness. They are your birthright. But you don’t have to strive for them or look anywhere but within. They are silently waiting for you, in the stillness of your soul. ❤️