One of my favourite childhood films is ‘Now and Then’. I love it. I’ve always been a big Christina Ricci fan (literally wanted to be Wednesday, and lived in plaits).

The film is ace. It’s not Goonies, but it’s up high on my list.

So in the film Roberta (Christina Ricci) taped her chest down when she started to develop.

…..I was that girl.

I wasn’t the first to wear a bra out of my friends. I despised the idea of wearing a bra and I still remember the anxiety of ‘growing up’. It wasn’t fair. I wasn’t ready to stop being a kid yet. My friends seemed to embrace becoming a woman. Whilst getting dressed for PE commenting on each others bras. Mine was underneath my sister’s size 6/8 dance top. She was a dance student and had the most amazing figure. But when I developed I pretty much had a melt down and my mum had to spend months telling me I needed to wear a bra. She finally got me in a ‘training bra’. So, Kirst, if you ever read it I used to steal your tiny sports tops and squeeze into them because I didn’t want to stick tape around my chest. The thing is, my sister had an hourglass figure and a big chest, but she was tiny.

I remember the day I first got a visit from Aunt Flo (I literally cringed typing that). It was a day I was taking my little cousins swimming. I went to the toilet as I was about to put my swimming costume on. I was furious. Outraged. Not mentally able to deal with it.

I felt I hadn’t had chance to have a childhood and I wasn’t ready. Sure,  childhood had it’s good moments, and I was privileged (not spoilt) in many ways (most importantly I was grateful). But it was pretty horrific in many ways. And I can’t look at childhood photos without holding back tears. It was hard man, so fucking hard. In recent years I’ve been addressing my childhood. But I won’t discuss that here. I’m here to talk about boobs right now.

 

Boobs. Breasts. Whatever you want to call them. (not fun bags though, a complete sleeze referred to them as that via text telling someone he was gonna sleep with me that night. He later realised I had no intention and literally only let him stay over because he begged and said he’d lost his house key and can’t get through to his house mate on the phone. What an asshole. Turned out he had his key all along. And his mate, who turned out to be a really cool guy told me everything afterwards when I spoked to him. He told me about ‘the bet’, between 3 other guys in their crew of who would hook up with me that night. I genuinely thought they were legit and just nice guys. I vommed in my mouth a little when the 4th guy, and only decent one filled me in on what went on. That night when we got back from the club I was making cups of tea and talking to this guy about life and he was texting my sister saying he was going to ‘bang’ me. As if. He was my sister’s best friend’s brother. Clearly he didn’t know me and has a shitty personality. To the person who really hurt me, the person I thought loved me and would text me or call me and let me know what this sneeze was planning, if you ever read this I still don’t understand why you were so shit in that situation but I won’t bring it up again. I dare not. I literally only met up with him because it was funny that I hadn’t seen him since I was 6 and thought he was a Disney prince because he had the same name as one. He didn’t spend a shit tonne on me, he bought me one red bull and vodka even though I already had a drink and insisted he didn’t. He had to ask my friend what I was drinking because I said no thank you all night). Again, to the person who hurt me, I invited you. You chose to believe that I had planned this night out without you and your friend and her brother. I’m gonna be real here, I can’t stand your friend. When I saw she was there I turned to my friend and said ‘oh shit, she’s here’. She ran up and hugged me. Forgivable as i’m sure she was wasted. But I invited you. I didn’t know she was going to be there. I am so far removed from being a villain in this situation and I can’t get into it because I’ll get pissed off again because the whole thing is unjust. I was fucking kind letting him stay at my folks house. I was upset with my own friend that he didn’t stay there with us as quite honestly I didn’t want a random person crashing at my place. Then I later found out that that person had pretended to lose his key. Had a bet. Was texting one of the people who’s supposed to love me unconditionally that he was going to hook up with me (unbeknown to me) and you even made me feel bad because I didn’t ‘put out’ and he’d allegedly spent £40 on me (i’ll withhold the laughter). That’s an expensive red bull and vodka. AND remember, I’ve already said how I said ‘no thank you’ to a drink and he asked my friend what I drink. So yeah, I can own my shit, but I was so fucked over in this situation and i’ve never received an apology from any party. NOT fucking COOL!

 

Back to boob talk.

I remember being in year 9. It was a hot day and I was in History class. I bloody loved history and got nothing but straight A’s that year.  I was sat in class, and as usual, I had my school jumper over my chair even though it was a boiling hot day.

All of a sudden I got a feeling. It’s a feeling i’ve had several times in my life (fortunately a lot less now) and all of a sudden I became aware that I had the largest chest in my class. I felt so ashamed. I wanted to cry. I put my jumper on over my t-shirt and said I was cold to my friend when she looked at me as if I was weird. I hated it when that overwhelming sense of panic crept over me.  I felt nauseated, awkward, I wanted to go home. This didn’t happen all of the time, but when it did, it sucked!

 

Years later, I got a job at a skate shop. I loved it. Mostly because I loved ROXY and even though it was just a sales assistant job I was in my element. I’d gained weight by this point in my life (2008) but I wasn’t obese. I had an hourglass figure. I was walking to work and passed a pub/restaurant. Typical ‘piss heads’ fagging it out the front even though it was early. I just want to say I am not a third wave feminist who thinks wolf whistlers should face prison time, or am repulsed when someone beeps at me and shouts something they think is flattering. I roll my eyes and cringe, but I don’t sweat it. I don’t take offence. I don’t go ‘hugh mungous’ screaming banshee feminist on them.

But this, this was vile. I was walking into work and one guy says to his mate ‘whoa, look at the tits on that.’ (Yes, THAT). ‘I’d love to have her bouncing on top of me’.  This accompanied with a creepy stare and smile. There may have been a wink.

What a prick. I went into work, locked myself in the toilet and burst out crying, I had a uniform but no jumper on me. I couldn’t wear a jacket over my t shirt. It ruined not only my day, but that job. I was forever conscious that even under a jumper too big for me you could tell I had big boobs.

I miss a lot about being my slimmest. Not having to wear elasticated waistbands or really expensive custom dresses. I miss not having a double chin. I miss being able to fit into Roxy clothes and comfy jeans. Man, I’ve not worn jeans in over a decade. I wore them one day in 2008 at work as someone at work said I should and challenged me to when I said I look awful in them. But nope, jeans are no fun when you’re fat. I was definitely overweight by then.

But when I was at my slimmest and had a much smaller waist, I really did have an hourglass figure. I remember putting on a fitted dress and someone commented on my ‘gorgeous figure’ and I ran up stairs and got changed before we went out. This was in my late teens. When I lived in jeans and t shirts from the guys section that were baggy on my smaller frame.

Years later I was working in a restaurant and had to wear a fitted shirt. It was black, which I liked. But it was 2006 and I wasn’t yet 2008 Stacey who was pretty overweight. So my boobs stood out. One of the waitresses said ‘bloody hell your boobs are massive’ whilst standing at the bar (weirdly this girl is now dating a guy I used to call close friend until he drunkenly groped my chest and I haven’t spoken to him since). Literally a group of six guys (customers) turned around to look at my boobs. I was mortified. They weren’t rude or gross or nasty (like a lot of the creepy dudes that insisted on telling lame jokes when you served them), but they were pretty blatant in that they were checking to see if the other waitress was accurate in her observation.

 

I’m kind of tired of being embarrassed or ashamed. I have been for some time now. I started to wear more fitted clothes in 2006 because my cousin (3 years younger than me) was confident and it kind of inspired me to not give a f*ck. So thanks to her. She doesn’t know that she helped me, but she really did.

 

Anyone who has big boobs knows that bras are expensive. So me being me, entered a competition to win a free bra from my favourite brands. I sent a little poem and I got contacted by someone asking me to send a photo to go with my poem. I didn’t really want to have a photo with it, but I wanted to win a free bra. So I said ‘sure’ and sent one. I’m kind of proud I didn’t have make up on in it either. I just wanted to embrace my face/body in that moment and feel kind of ‘free’. Challenge myself. I later got a call from the employee asking me if I’d like to be in a video for their company. It would be a shoot in London and I’d get a voucher and travel expenses covered. For me, it was not only a challenge with regards to agoraphobia, and going back to London, the city I once loved and visited all the time. It was me facing being in front of a camera. Something i’ve hated. Being a film student I loved being behind the camera, but the odd occasion I had to be in the frame and on camera, I hated it. It made me so uncomfortable.

• So going back to a big city even though I suffer from agoraphobia (so crippling that I couldn’t go on public transport and my boyfriend drove me).
• Being in front of a camera when I feel nauseated at even the thought of it. (Although snap chat with amusing filters is literally one of the best things to cheer me up when i’m stressed/upset/nervous, this was totally different).

 

• and talking about boobs. Oh boy, now that for me is something i’m so proud of. To talk openly and be interviewed on camera and talk about boobs. More specifically, big boobs. I wanted to do it though, because, I wanted a  free bra (i’m that shameless), but I wanted to face a fear and get back some control. I wanted to be like ‘fuck you’ to any dude who made me feel like shit, or any girl who put me down or asked if they’re real. To any dude who would talk with me at the bar and i’d be tempted to remind them ‘dude, I do have eyes. They’re kinda big too. Raise your head please’.

 

So I did it. And it was fun. I loved being back in London. It wasn’t easy and it made me sad about how much i’ve been suffering from mental illness the past decade and how many opportunities i’ve turned down in my career, or awesome events I didn’t attend. I don’t think i’ll ever go on the underground again. I’ll always pay more for a taxi. Or walk. I was embarrassed when the team went to book my train ticket and I had to say I was driving and not taking the train. I also ended up being an hour late, even though I left before 5am. London, oh how I love you but oh how I loathe traffic and the other drivers obsessed with the fact their car has a horn. There was a pretty bad accident that morning so I wasn’t going to moan because someone may have been seriously hurt.

But it was fun. Hanging out in covent garden after. I missed it. Not as much as i’ve missed Camden, but I have missed it. We went to Peggy Porschen in Belgravia so I could buy my cousin an overpriced red velvet cupcake to see if it surpassed Hummingbird bakery (her then favourite).

But I kind of felt empowered. Not kind of, very. I told my parents about the shoot beforehand and talking about boobs in front of my stepdad was a huge deal for me. Years ago i’d never have believed i’d ever talk about things like boobs. Even in front of my mother. Who herself, has pretty large ones. So does my sister, and aunts and cousins. It’s got to be genetic, surely?

My boyfriend would never want me to dress provocatively, (even if I had a slammin’ figure). But he does think i’m too modest. I’ll put on a dress and he’ll love it. But I won’t buy it because it shows cleavage. Even though he says it doesn’t remotely look like it’s low cut and he likes it so much he offers to buy it for me. I see even the tiniest part of my breasts and i’m like ‘nope’. I’m not in turtle necks so I guess i’m doing ok though.  Also, disclaimer, it matters to me that my boyfriend approves of an outfit. Not because i’m a weak female who needs validation, or because he controls me, or any of that negative shit. It’s because I value his opinion. He wouldn’t slut shame but he’d keep it real. To me, that’s pretty ace. So if I lose all this weight and somehow get over my issues and end up super proud and confident, if I was wearing a fishnet top with nipples on display, i’m glad he’d suggest I reel it in a bit.  I dig that about him.