Thinking back to my wedding day in 2007, a few memories stand out: Dancing all night long to a 20-piece band, swaying to My Girl with my teary-eyed father, and spending half the night yanking my strapless white lace dress up, as it struggled to contain my DDs. Little did I know that five years and two babies later, they’d be up to a size H and the bane of my existence.

Advertisement – Continue Reading Below

I developed relatively late in life. As a competitive gymnast, my after-school time was spent mastering complicated tumbling passes and back tucks on the balance beam. In the seventh grade, I switched from tumbling to cheerleading, a cutthroat sport of its own in Kentucky, where we lived, complete with weight lifting in middle school. All that physical activity kept me so lean that I didn’t get my period when my peers did. Along with no period meant no breasts — I was an A cup, at best. But I didn’t mind at all; sure, I occasionally got teased by boys for being flat-chested, but I was serious about my sports.

After my freshman year of high school, I quit cheerleading. It was as if my body saw the sudden drop in exercise as a chance to do as much growing as humanly possible. During the summer leading up to my sophomore year, not only did I grow eight inches taller — from 5’0 to 5’8” — but I got my period, and my chest ballooned up to a size D.

Despite the enormous physical changes, I was thrilled to finally have breasts at 15. Because I was newly tall, they didn’t overwhelm my frame. They drew attention, to be sure — during my first week back in school, some boys taped toilet paper to my locker, insinuating I was stuffing my bra. And it was semi-annoying to have to wear two sports bras while playing soccer. But all in all, I was happy with my new body.

image

Allison with her friends on vacation in Puerto Vallarta.

Courtesy of Allison Berres

Fast forward to college. I gained the standard Freshman 15, pushing my D chest to a DD. Little things started bugging me about my boobs, like getting dressed up to go out with friends. Everyone was wearing these cute strappy little tops, but I couldn’t go near them. I couldn’t even find a strapless bra that worked. Shopping for bathing suits was a pain in the ass, too; when you’re top heavy but slimmer through the hips, as I was, it’s impossible to find a bikini that fits. No one makes a two-piece that’s XL on top but a medium on the bottom. This was the ’90s, and baggy tee shirts and flannels were in, so at least I could wear those during the day, but even then I felt like I was donning a tent.

Advertisement – Continue Reading Below

One area when I did feel confident, though, was dating. The guys I dated really enjoyed my breasts. Honestly, they were great boobs — big but still fairly perky, full, supple. Even though they caused me grief in the wardrobe department, they made me feel sexy while naked. I didn’t feel self conscious about them during sex, and the man I dated throughout much of college and after was a huge fan.

The post-university years were consumed by law school, and weekends were taken up by friends’ weddings. I was a bridesmaid in 15 weddings, and everybody wanted their bridesmaids in strapless dresses. (This was before the brilliant trend of giving your bridesmaids a color scheme and letting them choose their style.) Time after time, I’d have to buy a dress four sizes too big, so the bust portion fit my top half, then spend way too much money having the bottom tailored. Thankfully, in 2000, I discovered a strapless bra that worked, when a sorority sister I was visiting in New York City let me try hers on. It cost $100, but I ran right out and bought two.

Work was even trickier, with wardrobe issues rearing their aggravating head again. I’d buy a size 12 suit to accommodate my chest, then tailor the pants to an 8. Far worse, though, were the blatant comments often made by male colleagues, and even bosses, regarding my physique, like when a male attorney once made a comment about “motorboating” my breasts in front of everyone at a company picnic. When prepping for a meeting with a new client, the guys would say things like, ‘We should send Dillman (my maiden name) to talk to the them. They’ll love her.’” In response, I began dressing very conservatively — I wore turtlenecks for a long time. I wanted to be taken seriously as a lawyer, and I worried that people were making assumptions about me, looking at me and thinking, ‘Does this blonde girl with big boobs seriously think she can win this case?”

Advertisement – Continue Reading Below

Advertisement – Continue Reading Below

My now ex-husband and I wed in 2007. In retrospect, the only reason I wore a strapless gown was because that’s what was in style; I wish I’d chosen a halter or something with adequate support, so I could have actually enjoyed myself.

A year later, we welcomed our first daughter, Avery. I gained about 30 pounds while pregnant and my chest increased to a size F while nursing. Some people assume that larger-breasted women produce more milk, but there’s no correlation. In fact, breastfeeding was difficult for me because Avery had trouble latching. I swear it was because my boobs were bigger than she was. I was legitimately afraid of suffocating her if I fell asleep while nursing, and ended up pumping for about six months, because feeding her with a bottle just felt safer.

I eventually lost the baby weight, and my chest technically shrank back to a DD, but they were more of an “aggressive” DD — saggy and staring at the ground. In 2011, I delivered our second daughter, Faith, extremely early, at 22 weeks. Heartbreakingly, she didn’t make it, but my milk still came in, leaving them even more deflated afterward.

image

Allison on her wedding day in 2007.

Courtesy of Allison Berres

In March 2012, we conceived again, and by the time I delivered our healthy third daughter, Alyse, I had put on about 50 pounds, including 20 leftover from carrying Faith. Nursing Alyse and sick of wearing nursing bras all the time, I decided to get professionally fitted at a lingerie store. At this point, I called them my “National Geographic boobs” —heavy, drooping, and pendulous. When the saleswoman told me I was a size H, I was appalled. I never even knew that size existed!

Advertisement – Continue Reading Below

That bra fitting was the moment when I realized something needed to change. At age 38, my breasts were literally weighing down my life. I was exercising less than I wanted because they hurt while running, even when bound with multiple hook-and-eye-closured sports bras. I no longer felt desirable during sex, even though my then-husband adored my breasts; they’d fly off to the sides when I was on the bottom, and I’d feel compelled to smush them up with my arms. That made me want to have sex less, which did our marriage no favors. And even though I somehow escaped back pain, I had huge permanent dents in my shoulders from my bra straps.

image

Allison adjusting her dress on her wedding day.

Courtesy of Allison Berres

Throughout my life, I had contemplated breast reduction. I remember a girl in my senior class got one in high school; she looked so proportionate afterward, and I was really jealous. As the years went on, I’d find myself in dressing rooms, cursing my chest and thinking, “It would be so great to get these suckers lopped off.” But then I’d feel guilty for not appreciating the fact that I had healthy breasts, regardless of their size. When one of my best friends’ moms was diagnosed with breast cancer, I felt so selfish. I also knew that I’d one day want to breastfeed babies, and I was nervous that a reduction would make that impossible.

But now I was fairly certain I was done having babies, and I was ready. My OB/GYN gave me the names of a few reputable plastic surgeons. One of them attended my alma mater, University of Wisconsin-Madison, so right away I felt drawn to him. During the consultation, the surgeon took his time with me, answering all of my questions, from “Will I be able to pick up my kid afterward?” (not for about a week) to “If I stepped up my exercise, could I somehow lose lots of weight in my breasts and avoid surgery?” (impossible, he said). Originally, I’d believed that insurance wouldn’t cover a reduction if I didn’t have back pain, so I went in seeking a lift only. Even if they weren’t markedly smaller, at least they’d be pointing forward, not down, right? But my surgeon recommended both a reduction and a lift, reassuring me that pain was not a prerequisite for insurance coverage. He thought a small D would suit my five-feet-eight-inch, 150-pound frame.

Advertisement – Continue Reading Below

Advertisement – Continue Reading Below

My doctor also went over potential complications with me, including infection, blood clots, and scarring, which can vary depending on skin tone. It was scary, but I’m thankful he was honest. He deemed me a great candidate for the procedure, and reassured me that the vast majority of patients come through just fine.

image

.

My then-husband was supportive of my decision, though he was freaked out by the potential scars. The night of my surgery consult, he and I scrolled through various before-and-after photos, and even though I thought they looked great, they offered him little comfort. My doctor would be using an anchor-shaped incision, encircling the areola and extending downward, bisecting the bottom half of each breast. Another scar would follow the curve of each breast, in the crease underneath. They would look a little Frankenstein-esque in the beginning, yes, but would eventually fade. He was not thrilled, but he knew how much this meant to me, so he was on board.

The night before surgery, I was incredibly nervous. I’d never had general anesthesia; this would be my first major operation ever. I was scared about the pain afterward, what the recovery would feel like. I’d read horror stories about women not being able to get off the couch for a week, or of nipples falling off from infection.

Advertisement – Continue Reading Below

Even more frightening was the worry that something might go wrong. What if I never woke up from anesthesia, and my daughters lost their mother to a totally elective operation? At a year-and-a-half old, our youngest was too young to understand what was happening. I told Avery, who was almost six, that Mommy was having a procedure done, but didn’t go into details. I did warn her, though, that I wouldn’t be able to hug her or pick her up afterward, and that I’d need to lie down for a few days.

I was hysterically crying as they wheeled me into the operating room. I remember kissing the kids goodbye that morning, thinking, “Will this be my legacy? Mommy wanted smaller boobs, and she died trying to get them?” But my doctor reminded me that what I was doing wasn’t vain; I was improving my overall quality of life. And deep down, I knew he performed this procedure seamlessly all the time. As the anesthesia took effect and I drifted off, I simply prayed I’d make it through safe and sound.

Waking up from the 3-hour surgery, the pain wasn’t nearly as bad as I’d prepared for — maybe a five on a scale of one to 10. What hurt far more was my back, where the doctor performed some liposuction to get rid of the “bra fat” that squeezes out around your bra straps — that killed. My breast reduction was an outpatient procedure, and as I got ready to leave, I remember putting on my zip-up hoodie over my tightly bandaged chest, and it fit so differently than it had pre-procedure. There was so much more space in there! All I could think was, “Oh, this is gonna be good.”

Advertisement – Continue Reading Below

Advertisement – Continue Reading Below

At home, as the painkillers wore off, my chest continued to hurt far less than expected. I was back to work in two days, my discomfort by that time managed by ibuprofen. At the unveiling at the doctor’s office a few days later, all I could do was stare in amazement. They pointed to the sky! The scars were dark and purple, but my joy outweighed them by miles. I wore an ACE bandage for a few weeks to keep the swelling down, and was prescribed an antibiotic to help prevent infection.

It took a full year for the swelling to fully subside and my new boobs to really settle in. The scars are barely visible. My nipples were reduced from the size of a half-dollar to a bit smaller than a quarter, and I love the way they look. They definitely have less sensation than before, a risk that comes with repositioning them. But my surgeon had warned me that all sensation could be lost, so the fact that I still have some is a win in my book. And the way my breasts now make me feel during sex — sensual, youthful, confident — is totally worth the small drop in sensitivity. No more squishing my arms to keep them from falling off to the sides!

image

.

Bra shopping is a blast now. Before, my bras had so much material to them, not sexy at all. Now I can rock all kinds of lingerie. And the first time I went running with just one sports bra, I couldn’t believe how free and light I felt, like, “Oh, this is what it feels like to run without my boobs bouncing up into my chin.” I also love wearing off-the-rack bathing suits and not spilling out the sides. I’m not wearing little triangle tops or anything, but at least the cups aren’t big enough to fit over my head anymore. Oh, and tank tops! My old tank tops had to have thick straps to hide my bras. Now I can wear any tank I want. I wouldn’t say I’m showing off my cleavage, though I think women have every right to do so, regardless of their chest size, but I’m definitely not dressing as conservatively as I was. My old breasts truly stifled me in so many ways.

Advertisement – Continue Reading Below

Ever since having my reduction, so many women I know have come out of the woodwork and told me about their own — five of my friends from high school, law school friends, colleagues at work, and neighbors at wine night. It turns out that about 150,000 women had a lift and/or reduction in 2017 alone. (In comparison, about 218,000 had nose jobs.) Everyone I’ve talked to is so happy with their results, many of them wishing they’d done it earlier. I’ll never forget being at a Memorial Day family party just prior to my surgery. My then-mother-in-law, in her late-70s, pulled me aside and said, with a mischievous twinkle in her eye, “When I was 50, I told everyone I was taking a vacation in Mississippi alone … but I was actually getting a reduction. I should have done it 10 years earlier.”

image

Allison today.

Courtesy of Allison Berres

Advertisement – Continue Reading Below

Advertisement – Continue Reading Below

A few of my friends have also gotten implants, sort of a Mommy Makeover thing. I’ve noticed that women my age aren’t afraid to go get the boobs they want, whether they’re smaller or larger than what they have. Many of us have spent years feeling like our bodies don’t belong to us — they belong to our kids, whether we’re pregnant, nursing, cuddling, schlepping or just taking care of them in general. Now we’re in a place in our lives where we feel confident in our decisions, we know what feels good, and we’re done apologizing for going after what we want.

That said, I don’t plan on telling our daughters about my surgery until they’re much older. I can see how a younger child might construe it as meaning women need to look a certain way to be beautiful. I don’t want them growing up thinking they need to change a single thing about their bodies. One day, when they’re older, maybe in college, I might open up about it, especially if they inherit my large chest.

Following my separation in 2016 and my divorce last year, I started dating again. The wild thing is, I’m back together with my college boyfriend, also divorced! He didn’t see me naked during my size H phase, so I had to laugh when, during one of our first times being intimate, he exclaimed, “Your boobs are the exact same as they were in college!” If he only knew.

https://www.goodhousekeeping.com/health/a23490615/breast-reduction-surgery/

P.S We are always on the the lookout for lifestyle solutions for our readers! If you are interested in safely detoxing, cleansing, and/or losing weight Visit Here for more information ALSO Get Our FREE Natural Cures Ebook Enter Your info Here slimladyteahttps://blog.slimladytea.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/11/breast-reduction-surgery-made-me-feel-more-sensual-youthful-and-confident-1024x1024.jpghttps://blog.slimladytea.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/11/breast-reduction-surgery-made-me-feel-more-sensual-youthful-and-confident-150x150.jpgblogslimladyHealth & Wellnessbelly fat,cleanse,detox,lose belly fat,lose weight,weight lossThinking back to my wedding day in 2007, a few memories stand out: Dancing all night long to a 20-piece band, swaying to My Girl with my teary-eyed father, and spending half the night yanking my strapless white lace dress up, as it struggled to contain my DDs. Little...Entertainment, Wellness, And More.....