Growing up with breasts will inevitably change your relationship with your body. Since we all go through puberty at different rates and with different experiences, it also leaves us feeling very lonely.
Often times, this will force us to compare our bodies to our peers’, which will then influence how we feel about our own attractiveness and if we’re desirable to others.
Some don’t find peace with their bodies for years, or at all. (I didn’t start to approve of my physical appearance until I was 19, as I approached the end of puberty.)
Occasionally you might even encounter someone who expresses their disappointment with the cease to your development(s)—as if living with new stretch marks, curves, and a menstrual cycle isn’t enough to deal with.
Enter you—the boy who thinks my chichis are too small for your company.
Your constant criticism of the size of my breasts definitely tugged at some age-old insecurities, like when I would look at my bare chest in the mirror and think “do more.”
However, after several years of self-shaming turned self-acceptance, I really don’t care what you think about my boobs. I think they’re lovely, to be honest. I would best describe them as “humble” or “fun.”
And I would say that I’m sorry for not earning your approval, but I’m not.
The fact that you took it upon yourself to voice your opinion over something that I can’t control says much more about you than it does about me. And to see this as an imperfection, perhaps your judgment on what makes someone desirable is as “underdeveloped” as my boobs.
You, apparently, looked at me and found a pair of knockers that were too small for your liking.
When I look at me, I see an entire body attached to—more importantly—a personality, intelligence, and fresh breath (because I always carry gum with me).
That said, I would much rather share the company of someone who will look me in the eyes and be honest—not look at my cleavage and then do so.
So, even if you don’t like my boobs, well, I do. And that’s all that really matters.