For 20 years of my life, I had a unique problem. Some people would argue it wasn’t as bad as I made it out to be, but it felt huge to me … literally. 

My boobs grew too big. 

For a long time my breasts were the first things people noticed about me. Immediately the eyes cast downward, comments were delivered to my face — and probably behind my back too — and I started to feel as if those things were the most interesting part of me.  

The sheer size of my breasts made it hard to live. At first, I viewed it as a lucky genetic gift, but by the time I entered my sophomore year of college, I was a 36 H cup. Slowly, less and less stores carried my size, it took more effort to be physically active and my confidence underwent a great descent. 

I lived in constant discomfort as a big-boobed warrior. My shoulders had permanent indents, and I grew a hump on my neck from embarrassing posture. Since LinkedIn had no available job listings for a cathedral bellringer, I knew I had to take action against this ever-growing ailment. 

I decided to chop my boobs off. For the more serious, medically speaking folks, I got a breast reduction.  

Aside from the sweaty, unshaved man protesting my autonomy, most people supported my decision. In December 2024, I went under the knife and woke up to a brand-new pair of boobs. Ta-da! I knew I would love the end product. I didn’t care about the shape or perkiness of the new bazongas — although it’s a nice plus. I just wanted to have them as out of my face as possible.

Now, I am writing this column six months post-procedure. Although the scars are pretty gnarly, my quality of life is so much better. This might be hard to imagine if you’ve never had to endure the horrors of holding pounds of fat to your chest while trying to walk down a flight of stairs, but every aspect of my existence has become easier. 

Before I got my procedure, I was harassed by a lot of people — especially men. In fact, when one of my mutual friends heard I was getting the procedure, he said “what will she be without her boobs?” As if my brand was the fact that I had them. 

I grew anxious about the new appearance leading up to the surgery. Had I forced my big-breastedness onto others? Had I made the ladies my personality? What if he was right?

What I realized was this procedure would filter out a lot of weirdos, and it was a good thing these men were showing their true colors. Once I flattened, they wouldn’t bother me anymore if they truly only cared about my overachieving bust. 

I’m happy to say this mentality was proven right! When I returned to the illustrious KAMS, less greasy Discord-mods came up to me asking if they were real. 

Until now, I hadn’t had a small chest since I was 11. On my way to the surgery, I felt so emotional. I cried and cried, but I was unsure why I was turning something so positive into a sad prospect. I’ve thought about it a lot, and I think I was mourning a part of me that would no longer be there.

I felt sad that my body was trying its best but not serving me. I felt sad that I had to say goodbye to a part of me. It angered me that I had to get a procedure in the first place, just as entering a new era of my life scared me. 

Still, once I stood from the hospital bed for the first time with my chest wrapped in bandages and felt the immediate shift in gravity, I knew I made the right decision. Since having small boobs, I feel that I’m honoring the little girl who didn’t get to be a child every day. 

I couldn’t run or jump freely for years. I couldn’t wear the bras and tops that everyone else wore when I was in middle school. I couldn’t separate my worth from my chest for a really long time. Now, I can. 

In a time where women’s healthcare is being threatened, I feel so lucky to have had the opportunity to make this change. Although I’m fortunate enough to have gotten the procedure, countless people who search for gender-affirming care and other surgeries like reductions are left without resources and aid. 

Some will argue this surgery is purely aesthetic, and while some cases might be, I would counter that most who get this surgery aren’t in it for the look. With so much stigma and uncertainty in this field of care, I had never thought a breast reduction was something that could actually be a possibility for me, and I’m grateful I was proven wrong. 

It was a long wait, but I know others go through more strenuous processes to get the care they need to feel comfortable with themselves. I urge you to advocate for yourself, your well-being and your happiness. 

 If you’re denied, laughed at or not taken seriously, find another team of people that believe you. I had a support system that saw me struggle for years, cry in dressing rooms and feel out of place. I also had a surgeon who dedicated his life to helping women feel confident again. Most of all, I knew myself and my struggles. I knew that I deserved to be comfortable in my body. 

The biggest decision of my life started by looking in the mirror and knowing that I couldn’t endure more discomfort. By finding communities of women and individuals who had gone through the same thought processes, I was guided in the right direction and empowered. 

I’m not trying to tell you that chopping off your boobs will grant you infinite happiness and strength, but I will say that there’s power in knowing what you want and going for it.  

If you’re curious about your local resources, research where the women’s health clinics, Planned Parenthood branches and gender-affirming resources are in your area. Supporting and donating to these organizations — and many more entities with similar missions — could help someone else get their boobs chopped off too. And maybe, finally, frolic without a care in the world. 

Until next time!

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