So, it finally happened. I knew that it would eventually. This morning, without warning I got hit with an emotional ton of bricks. As I pealed off the last of the bandages and was left totally naked in front on my mirror, I felt badly about how I look. My rational mind knows that I really barely look different to even my closest friends- who have, by the way, been clinically investigating the details of my new body for the last eight weeks at my request. My inner-critic, however, is irrational sometimes and sorta nasty. She is a tiny,but competitive and aggressive, inner voice that alerts me of my every fault or misstep. She is kind of a nasty bitch, but she keeps me moving forever forward even when I want to throw in the towel. As I closely examined myself at every angle I saw things that I didn’t like. There are parts of my breasts that look almost angular, bumps that stick out, slight asymmetry, and they are ever-so-stationary. When I move I can see my muscles move over them and ripple in an unnatural way. I tried putting on a bra, but none fit. Honestly, I only have four (a black one, a nude one, and two pretty ones) and they were all the wrong shape, or size, or sat directly on my freshly exposed incision. Ouch. I tried on many outfits so I could just.get.to.work.already. Nothing looked right. Everything “fits” but nothing felt good. I know that it has only been a week and that my body needs time to heal, but I have spent so much of my reserve patience already. Where do I find more?! I am sure that this feeling, which is rather empty and hollow, will pass and that I will accept my new normal. For now though, I am happy to have long and wild hair that for the most part covers the upper third of my body and for my single loose fitting, patterned shirt. I am also thankful for the people I reached out to today who each gave different and truly helpful perspective (and a fair share of compliments).
My next post is going to be a happier one. I’m already working on it.