An open letter to my boobs: Y’all are the worst and the breast

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To the dear blobs of fat that have made my chest their permanent home,

I never asked for y’all to be in my life. For real. Everything was great in elementary school before you two literally appeared overnight. I was without a care in the world. Running in soccer? Easy. Finding something to wear? Any shirt will do. When you two started to grow, life started to suck. Suddenly, I felt like the world was watching me “mature.” How gross.

In addition to the massive blow to my self-esteem, you two sags of fat also decided to ruin my back. I’m only 18 years old, yet I feel decades of pain in my back and shoulders, and for what? I didn’t ask for this. Don’t even get me started on the premature hunchback I’ve been developing for years. My bad posture isn’t just subconscious, either; I used to consciously slump my back so you two would stay out of sight. 

Why are you two so freaking big? It’s obnoxious. Just continually craving attention. Is that why you kept growing beyond a decent, socially acceptable size? I hate being subjected to society’s double standard. It fetishizes big boobs and oversexualizes women. Yet, when I wear a shirt that shows a bit of cleavage, suddenly, I’m pinned as someone feigning for attention. I didn’t ask for this. 

The truth is, I was ashamed of you two. Sometimes, I still am. It’s true that I didn’t ask for you two, but whether I like it or not, you are a part of me. I realized you guys could spice up my outfits. The struggle to find a shirt that fits right and makes me feel good is often an uphill battle, but when I do find one, it’s like finding a needle in a haystack. I realized that to love you two and myself, I need to be honest about your existence. I’m turning into the Hunchback of Notre Dame just to hide your presence, but I look hot in tight clothing, so why should I keep hiding that from the world? 

From now on, I’m going to treat you two like gifts because you are. As superficial as it may be, I see you, my boobies, my breasticles on my chesticle, my yiddies or whatever name you two prefer, as a cornerstone to my womanhood. I’m proud as hell to be a woman!

Wishing you the breast, 


P.S. Next time you see someone with boobs, thank them for their service. They carry the weight of the world on their chest. Some of us who have a larger endowment literally do.

Contact Özge Terzioğlu at [email protected].