By TAHLIA PRITCHARD
The moment I really began to notice I had developed breasts that would attract attention was on a bus-ride home from school. A male classmate helpfully pointed out to all the other kids ‘Oh look, Tahlia’s got tits!’
My 14-year-old tomboyish self was mortified. I was still happy in my bubble of flat-chested denial, regardless of what was really happening under my awkwardly-fitting Bonds sports bra.
My larger breasts weren’t always something that had bothered me. I happily went about my schoolwork and social life like any other teen. Being in a school uniform all day, and dressing in a lot of black and not showing off my body (I was an emo kid) I never felt like I was overly sexualised or that I was getting any odd attention for having bigger boobs.
When I was 18 and I had hit an E cup that showed no signs of slowing down any time soon. That was when the panic set in. The important thing to understand here is being the shy kid who always lacked self-esteem, the thought of having my external identifier be ‘the short chick with the massive rack’ was horrifying.
Here I was, standing at five-foot nothing, with terrible posture and arms that stayed firmly and permanently crossed against my chest – as if to diminish any unnecessary attention to the watermelons that were encased underneath.
It was only when I went to university that a friend put the idea of a breast reduction in my head.
And before I knew it, it was all systems go.
With my boobs starting to sit more comfortably in an F cup, I dreamed about the two tiny Cs that I would one day be ever so proud of and ready to flaunt to the world. The thought of wearing delicate and pretty bras that my head wouldn’t fit in made me ecstatically happy.
I made the decision to have a breast reduction in August 2010, and had it booked for the end of November. After meeting with the surgeon and going through all the side-effects, complications and outcomes, I was so impatiently excited after he told me I could get down to my desired size, that I didn’t even pick up on the weird fact that he never actually examined me before I went under the knife. Coming out of the surgery groggy-eyed I was told everything had gone well and after an overnight hospital stay, my new boobs and I went on our merry way.