Getting Shit Off My Chest

On August 1, I had my breast implants removed, and I can finally breathe again. Literally and spiritually. This is my body, my story, and my return to myself.

I'm not here to shame anyone who chooses implants. Bodies and choices are personal. This is simply what I believe to be true.

How I Got Here

Throughout my life, I was the proudly elected President of the Itty Bitty Titty Committee. Even nicknamed me "Bones," and I loved my body. I felt confident. Then life got loud with messages about what "feminine" should look like. Younger me made a choice that made sense to her in that moment. Knowing what I know now, I'd choose differently, but I don't beat her up for doing her best with the tools she had. Not anymore. 

Fast forward: for a couple of years, I didn't feel like myself. Extreme fatigue. Brain fog that made simple tasks seem more complicated. Memory blips. Hair loss. Dry eyes. Digestive drama. Weight gain that didn't feel like me. Inflammation and achy joints (hellooo, lower back). Blood work and exams didn't provide answers. Then came the capsular contracture (scar tissue) and pain, which made everyday movement a chore. My body whispered. Then it shouted. I finally listened to it.

The Moment After Surgery

When I woke up from anesthesia, a wave of relief and freedom washed over me, filling my lungs with a breath I hadn't felt in years. Taking deep breaths was so difficult. It was a moment of radical self-love. Many symptoms lifted quickly. Not every single one (healing is a process), but a little over four weeks out, my mind feels clear and my body feels softer. I feel feminine. I feel like myself.

Releasing What's Not Mine to Carry

This explant became a ceremony of release of getting shit off my chest, literally and energetically:

• Other people's definitions of "feminine.” Femininity is what I feel within.

• Old stories and self-judgment. I forgave the unhealed 20-something-year-old who did her best.

• The pressure to explain. I don't owe a thesis on why I put them in or took them out. My body. My timeline. My boundaries.

• Doing it all alone. Receiving support is powerful. Jose, thank you for cleaning wounds when I was squeamish (still am), cooking, tidying, organizing, and for carrying what I couldn't. Thank you to my friends and family, who were incredibly supportive and sent me thoughtful and funny calls, text messages, and gifts while I recovered.

Therapy, Inner Child Work, and the Divine Feminine Essence

I'm a therapist who still has therapy to deepen my own healing. I've learned not to judge myself. Some of us have modified our bodies because we feel like we are not enough, and make excuses for other people's perceptions. Now I know that the divine feminine supports me. I reclaimed my physical body and embraced a new era of myself, and even my 22-year-old self.

Movement, Joy, and What's Next

A few months pre-op, running became too painful. Running is therapy for me, and I've missed it. I'm being patient with this healing body and trusting that the miles will meet me when it's time. I'm not slowing down my life. I'm aligning it. This morning I was able to walk Mugzy, and I'm looking forward to signing up for a few races.

For you...

• May you remember the core of who you are before someone tells you what "sexy" should be.

• May you release what was never yours to carry.

• May you offer yourself the patience and forgiveness you give so freely to others. Healing is a journey, and it's okay to take your time.

• May you feel supported in your body, in your relationships, and by something bigger than all of us.

• May you let yourself feel, cry, and forgive yourself.

With love from me and my huevitos that I adore,

Jess

P.S. This is my personal experience, not medical advice. If you're considering surgery, please consult trusted medical professionals and your support system.

However your body looks or changes, you are worthy of care, joy, and love.