You Are Loved, Just the Way You Are

I was around 13 years old, on the skinner side. We were watching a family movie at the time when my dad told me, “My boobs are bigger than yours!” From that moment on, I always felt inadequate. My mother had big breasts and so did my sister, but mine never developed.

When I was 22, I decided it would be fun to work as an escort. I had just finished reading Paulo Coelho’s book Brida, and it spurred my already-existing interest. A few years into it, I decided to take a holiday; one of the girls I worked with said she was going to Thailand to have implants put in. Given my negative attitude toward my small breasts, I decided that I would also like to get breast implants. I had silicone implants put in at a hospital in Bangkok. I went from a B cup to a DD cup. They were perfect.

Fast-forward ten years, and I now had a bachelor’s degree in law and was working in a law office. At first, I thought I just had a cold, but then the headaches came and turned to migraines, my skin broke out with acne, and I was not able to focus. I quit work and ended up spending the time at home with my son, who was two years old. It was a positive move from work life to home life, but I was still sick. Six months of not working passed, and my health was getting increasingly worse. It was a struggle to even get out of bed in the morning. I had been to see numerous doctors, had countless scans, and still, there was no resolution.

I remember coming out of the doctor’s office one day, and my husband looked at me with a hopeful gaze, hoping the doctor had found a solution to my pain. Alas, he had not. He had, however, told me about something called breast implant illness (which even had a hashtag, #bii) and explained all the symptoms to me. I had every single one of the symptoms. But I didn’t want to believe in this vague illness.

Time was passing, and I was not getting better. In a state of despair I decided to research breast implant illness and found countless people, celebrities, and even Facebook groups with tens of thousands of women in them all claiming that they had the illness. They called breast implants toxic bags.

These discoveries informed my decision that I would have my implants removed. I didn’t have the funds, so I had to raise them. Fortunately for me, a family member gave me most of the money. The operation day was scary as I said goodbye to my son and husband before I was wheeled off into the surgical theatre. It was heartbreaking, but I knew I was doing the right thing.

The implants were removed six months after my illness. My breasts are now a B cup. My health is nearly 100%, and my happiness is through the roof. I have come to love my body, learn and develop my sexual confidence, and be a strong woman regardless of what my physical body looks like. My sex life with my partner is incredible, and my relationship with my son has improved.

The breast implants and illness were a wake-up call. I needed self-love, I needed to love my body, and I needed to learn to listen to my body.

If I could go back to my 13-year-old self and tell her anything, I would tell her how loved she is, just the way she is, and she shouldn’t change herself for anything or anyone.