I have weird areolas. For much of my post-pubescent life, I despised them. They never once resembled any of the areolas, or just tits in general, that I had seen in film and porn. As a teenager, I thought I was a freak…the vastly unfuckable kind. Any interest anyone showed in me was rebuffed by incredulity and me running in the opposite direction because I didn’t think I was worthy of another’s love and attraction. I mean… my tits were a disaster and I wasn’t pretty. Like, at all. And I felt fat as fuck… though in retrospect, I was quite petite.
Not only are my breasts obviously lopsided (the right being substantially bigger… maybe by half a cup size), but they are large and… saggy, have weird cleavage because they are far apart, and they are covered in stretchmarks. Add some giant misshapen areolas to the mix and I was primed from a young age for complete self-loathing in the context of my body and what I perceived as my sexual desirability. I only started to look at myself naked with actual attraction to my body this year… maybe last…. Prior to that, I could not look at my nude reflection straight on or with corrective lenses in or on my eyes. I always preferred how I looked peripherally or blurry… never straight-on and clear-sighted. Too many imperfections and ugly bits. I literally used to gag. Sometimes I still do when I see my belly uncovered. Not gonna lie… but that insecurity deserves about 5 posts on its own, but I digress.
I could cry at just how much I suffered within myself at that vulnerable age. How much I continued to suffer well into adulthood. Most of it because I didn’t look like anyone I saw on tv, in movies and in the scrambled porn I watched with shocking regularity (for a teenage girl, I guess). Some of it was from bullying, my perceived sexual invisibility, and insensitive comments from family members and so-called friends which still manage to creep into my psyche on my more fragile days.
I now spend an inordinate amount of time healing my inner teenager because that poor girl was so sad and lonely. I still feel it all, like I never bothered to heal the pain… I just swept it under a rug and forgot about it. But this blogging project has forced me to confront many of my wounds. Confront and heal them once and for all.
This summer has been very significant with regards to my healing and development of true self-love. Coming to terms with my body, that it is MINE, that it is beautiful and strong, has been grueling work. Coming to terms with my complex sexuality has also proven arduous. But the work has been worth the unearthing of my inner torment. It has been healing in ways I never imagined possible.