Go.
Heal Thyself, Girl!
A story of personal healing
Ever since I gave birth to Thing 1, I’ve struggled with
slouching. I figured it was a
combination of things: engorged breasts that would have won money in
a wet t-shirt contest, muscle fatigue from holding a well-fed baby, and stomach
muscles that had been stretched beyond reason.
Two more babies and nine more years under my belt, and I’m still
struggling with slouching. In fact, it’s
been getting worse. For at least the
last year and a half, I’ve been consciously trying to fix the problem. I check in with myself regularly throughout
the day: “Am I slouching? Yes! Stop that!” I’ve been working on my core, trying to bolster those muscles and give my shoulders a break. All to no avail. What is my problem? I was a dancer for heaven's sake. Dancers don’t slouch! They have lovely posture (and small breasts,
I might add).
Yesterday, I woke up and put on a real new bra. Not a nursing bra or the bandeau bras I’ve
been sporting for the last 9 years because they are comfortable, and what’s the
use with real bras anyway when every hour your size seems to change. It took me two hours to get this real bra picked
out. I asked the sales gal where the A
cups were. She said that Victoria’s
Secret doesn’t carry A cups. Then she
added, “And you are definitely not an A cup”.
Uh, yes, I am. In college, I was a 36B, and now, well, now I just have pocket flaps.
She smiled and measured me. I was
pretty sure she was trying to boost my ego along with my boobs because she said
I measured at a 34C or a 32D.
What!!!! If I told my three
nicely endowed sisters and mother that I was a C or D cup, I would never hear
the end of it. Whatever Victoria’s! Lo and behold, I walked out of there with
three 32D bras that are way more comfortable than my 36Bs ever were! How was I supposed to know? Victoria’s wasn’t
even around when I started wearing bras.
Yesterday I woke up and put on my new 32D bra. I brushed my teeth. I checked in with myself, “Am I slouching?
No! Cool. Maybe all those exercises are finally paying
off?” I moved on. I check in throughout the day as usual. Each time my answer was the same: “Am I
slouching? No!” I can’t believe it. I have never given myself a positive answer to
that question, and now three in one day.
Unreal! I get ready for bed, put my PJ’s on and brush my teeth. One last check-in: “Am I slouching? Yes!”
Huh???
When I weaned Thing 3 a couple of months ago, I actually cried
for my sorry droopy little sisters. Poor
things! They worked hard for me, and now their usefulness is over. Done.
Never again will they nourish another human being, of course, my husband
has a different opinion. But I just wanted
them to live out the remainder of their deflated little lives in contentment, knowing they served faithfully and well.
They were troopers, and maybe they even deserve a little purple heart tattooed
over the top of them.
I have discovered, however, that my sisters have will. They shall not let life pull them down. My sisters have been lifted, and they are
singing hallelujah! These girls have
life left in them yet. They are standing
ready to take on the world. You go, girls!
As it turns out, my new 32D has miraculously
healed me. My slouch is gone. Those maybe two-pound weights have been slung
back into their rightful position, and I find myself overcompensating, leaning
back even, with the change in weight distribution. As if my whole body is rejoicing with the
ease with which I can stand straight now.
I find myself asking, “Was it really that simple? All I needed was a new well-fitted bra?”
Amazing!
Here is my plea for all women kind. Please, if you slouch, go get your sisters lifted. No matter how small you think you are, give them the support they deserve. Go. Heal thyself, girl!
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