My (First) Proper Bra Fitting
May 2016. I went to my very first bra fitting.
Friends had been telling me for a long time that I needed to go, that it’ll change my life. So I finally did.
Have I known that I’ve been wearing the (extreme) wrong size since my teenage years? Yup. Was that confirmed by the very nice lady who helped me out without making me feel an ounce of shame about my own body? Yup. Am I happier now that I am actually wearing the right bras? Yup.
I’ve been standing taller, both physically and metaphorically, since that day.
The day after my fitting. I wrote this in my notebook:
“I realized that I’ve been avoiding a proper fitting because I’ve been scared of my own body.”
Growing up, the signals offered to me about becoming a woman wasn’t necessarily a positive thing. My mom fretted over my maturing body, and even asked me once if I wanted a breast reduction when I was 14 years old because I was catcalled while trying to cross a street.
The sexualization and objectification of women’s bodies have made me weary. To be taken seriously by the world, I needed to separate my intellect from my body. Because the two can’t co-exist together, right?
So, I grew up walking slightly hunched over, attempting to minimize what is mine. I’m used to grabbing a size that’s always one size too big. And my default pose is one where I am crossing my arms.
I hide, because I am scared.
Women like myself have been raised to shun our own body, whether it’s out of protection by our own, or by those who only see what our body means for their pleasure.
Has my life changed yet? I desperately hope so. But I know well enough that a few new bras in the right size is not going to do it for me.
I needed to do it for myself.
I don’t want to be scared anymore.