Day 6: Final Reflections on the Subject of My Big Boobs

I didn’t realize how angry and objectified comments about my boobs made me feel until I started writing about it. Them.


It’s like I have unleashed a lifetime of anger about it.

Since I started getting boobs my sophomore year of high school (I was a late bloomer), I’ve been getting unwanted attention from people for something I have no control over.

Even as an adult – within the last five years! –  I have been referred to as “the one with the big boobs.” I can not fully express how much I FUCKING HATE THAT.

I really do. I can’t believe that THAT is what people use to describe me, out of all the things they could say.

Big, tall, blonde, short hair, writer, the hurdler, so-and-so’s mom, ex-wife, sister, girlfriend, daughter, it goes on…

But I am reduced (no pun intended) to being known for my boobs. It’s insulting.

I don’t care if you say, “but I like them” – it’s really not about what YOU like. It’s about me being seen as little more than boobs.

I’ve tried to come up with something similar that I could call a man that would insult him  similarly, but even “the guy with the small dick” isn’t the same.

And if you said, “Oh, the guy with the Ferrari” he’d probably swagger around like, “Yeah, that’s me and my chick magnet.” #HowYOUdoin’


I’ve had conversations with male friends about it who don’t understand why it bothers me so much, and I’m not sure how to explain it to them.

There’s an element of irony to the whole thing, I suppose, because when I was little I would put oranges in my leotard and pretend I had breasts. I’m not sure what that was all about, but apparently I was a great manifester at a young age.

And I like being curvy and sexy and don’t mind talking openly about sex, and sexiness, but that is A) not all I’m about and B) something that, although I talk frankly about it, is still private to me.

I’m complex like that.


I’ve spent a long time – since I was 12 or 13 – being appraised, unwantingly admired, commented on, catcalled, stared at, and talked about as if I was not the smart, accomplished, multi-dimensional, talented person I am.

And do you know what else angers me about it? My daughter is getting the same treatment.

Yes, she is gorgeous, and yes, she wears clothes that accentuate her figure, but that shouldn’t mean she gets ogled and has men older than her father make comments to her all the time.

Why is it the woman’s fault that a man can’t act right? Your attraction to me or my body is about YOU, not ME. Your erection is not my responsibility.

I was at a social event and a man old enough to be my father, a man I know professionally, couldn’t stop staring at my boobs.

Come on! You’re 70-something for fuck’s sake, I would think you could have learned how to HIDE YOUR GAWKING by now!


You know, I titled this post “Final Reflections on the Subject of My Big Boobs”, but I’m not sure I’m done ranting and raving about a lifetime of being objectified…#sorrynotsorry

Probably more to come,


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