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Thursday, November 29, 2012



I bet everyone will read this blog because of the title. Admit it. Boobs (even just the word) hold a strange power in our society. I don’t like the word. I prefer Bazoombas. In Junior High I named mine Misha and Yosha, after the hunters in Peter and the Wolf. I don’t know. I was 12.

When I was 4 or so I remember sucking in my stomach until the bottom of my ribcage poked out. I thought that was where my breasts would be. It looked weird. I didn’t like it. I had no interest in ever obtaining such ghastly things, so I decided I wouldn’t grow them.

I. Am. Brilliant.

When I was 9 my flat-chested life plan was shattered. It was summer. I was playing soccer in my neighbor’s yard. He kicked a soccer ball and I skillfully stopped it with my chest (as I had done many times before). For those of you who don’t know, growing breasts is PAINFUL and getting hit in the chest is the worst. Movies and public service announcements had taught me that horrible chest pain = certain death. I ran home, convinced something was terribly wrong with me. I couldn’t find my mom, so I wrapped toilet paper around my chest many times and prayed for God to preserve my young life. Which He did. When I realized I wasn’t dying I mourned the loss of my sunken chest and avoided the neighbors until . . . well, always.

A few days later I was the reluctant owner of several new bras. All white. All boring. All insanely itchy. On their maiden voyage I walked around with my shirt tucked under the elastic because it was SO itchy. And HOT. I was miserable. I resented my bras and the things that made me wear them. I hated those bras. I needed no further proof that breasts were terrible things that did not deserve to be dressed up or comfortable. I LONGED for my retired cotton undershirts and the lost childhood they represented.

About a month later I started 5th grade. I was wearing my bras like a pro at this point (no shirt tucking necessary). A boy in my class said,
“HEY! Are you wearing a bra!?”
Apparently one of my straps was showing. Nothing in my life had prepared me for such a terrible question. So I lied.
 “No! Of course it’s not a bra!”
He then asked,
“Oh, do you just wear that so guys will like you?”
I muttered something incoherent and looked everywhere but at the boy.
Apparently a bra was connected to my likability. I found this very troubling.

I’ve had negative experiences since then, but these all happened within a month of each other. This was just enough time for me to realize that having breasts was not good and I would feel dirty and objectified for the rest of forever.

Today I had a goal. It’s a weird goal. It’s a goal I wouldn’t normally share because I’m kind of afraid my grandparents or my mom will read it. Or my old Sunday School teachers . . . but I’m trying to be honest and kill my shame monster, so here it goes.

November 28, 2012 Goal: Embrace Bazoombas

I don’t mean that literally, of course. That would be weird.

I am cursed (depending on who you ask or how you look at it) with a “womanly” figure. In high school I accepted that I was built that way. I didn’t know by starving myself my butt and hips and chest would magically disappear. I didn’t learn that until later; and oh goodness it made me happy.

Now that I’m restoring weight, Misha and Yosha are coming back with a vengeance. I starved them, and they are punishing me by hoarding every ounce of fat I consume. The change is probably not noticeable to others, but I’m really struggling to accept them. I’m pretty sure I’m no longer sinkable . . .

Anorexic Camilla had an “unattractive and skeletal” body.
Anorexic Camilla did not get ogled by men.
Anorexic Camilla was not sexually desirable.

Healthy Camilla had her boobs “honked” when she was 13.
Healthy Camilla had a hard time finding clothes that didn’t make her look whorish.
Healthy Camilla thought sexuality was the only thing she had to offer.
Healthy Camilla had a body that was more desired/admired by men.

I don’t like this healthier body.

This is the body that was abused. This body “is naturally a very sexy girl” (even when I don’t want to be). This is the body that elicits “subtle” glances.
This is the body that makes me want to yell,


This is the body that does not feel like my own. This is the body my Ex exposed to the world online. This is the body that feels owned by whoever wants it. This is the body that makes me feel uninteresting and powerless outside of my sexuality. This is the body I have learned to hate.

Today I felt so disgusting I asked to go to my room and be alone. I felt dirty and disgusting. I felt exposed. I felt like I couldn’t get away from stares, and that everyone was thinking “look at that whore.” It was a terrible (albeit illogical) feeling; but very real. I felt so much shame in those moments I didn’t want to move or open my eyes or be seen. I was like the three-year-old who believes closing your eyes makes you invisible.

Right now invisibility would be awesome.


  1. Reading this post was hard....sad....mostly because it means that where you are in your recovery is exactly at the point where you MUST push probably thought where you were in the beginning of this process was too hard and you wanted to go back to anorexic Camilla...who knew the "eating" part wasn't the hardest to come. But the hardest, most painful and scariest part by far, is where you are now. Don't be afraid Camilla....eyes wide open...face it and conquer it....whatever "it" is, you and God and your family and friends and complete strangers like me BELIEVE IN YOU...just take that for what it is and push through. Only you truly know what drives Frank....embrace it, process it and beat it. Love beats evil, pain and hurt, physical and emotional....always....if you let it....

  2. Don't give up. Think of how many days you have plugged away at getting yourself healthy. Keep going!

  3. Don't give up, and don't give in to them. Anyone who would ever look at any woman and think 'look at that whore' is an asshole who deserves a kick in the face, and you know it. Don't be on their side.

    I really think you should read this article - it's about many of the same topics as your post here.

    Much love to Misha and Yosha! I'm sure they're glad to be back in the world again. Please be a kind guardian to them - they never did anything wrong. Your body never did anything wrong, and I'm very sorry it's had to suffer so much punishment because of things OTHER PEOPLE did. It's the person who 'honked' you, and your asshole ex-husband, who ought to be getting punished, not Misha and Yosha. So take care of them, forgive them, let them forgive you.

    I remember bras being a milestone and also a millstone when I was a teenager, too - your writing captures that experience so well. As soon as you've got something, someone else wants it. After years of feeling like I was putting up with underwires and discomfort just for feeling like my boobs were being pushed up into the eye range of whichever guys were around me, I quit wearing the things. I wear good camisoles instead - much comfier and cheaper, and very few people notice the difference. It's ten years since I last regularly wore a bra. I'm not particularly small in that department, either - so most women just don't need them, I guess.

  4. My solution, all through jr high and high school was to wear sweat shirts and baggy clothes. The same clothes to hide my healthy body that I later used to hide my unhealthy one. Perhaps during this transition into accepting your body for what it naturally is and should be, you can use the extra shield of some heavy clothing to keep out glances and looks. You should be comfortable with your body before other people start oggling it.


    this site got me through a lot of the hard times by just making a laugh out of them. Sometime you just have to laugh about treatment

    best one is this one...goes great with your post: tagline "The perks of recovery"

  6. I questioned on Nov. 21st "Why can't Camilla wear her brother's sweatshirt whenever she wants?" The rationale for wearing the sweatshirt is as stated above in another person's comment of Dec. 1st.

  7. You.are.beautiful. Your heart, your spirit, your soul, your life, your honesty, your rawness, your ability to express, your is all beautiful and it is you....far more than your body is you....I love your writing. I love your candid nature. I love your journey. I love your strength. I love your fighting spirit. I love how fearless you are. YOU ARE GOING TO BLESS SO many woman after recovery. Keep fighting the fight!!!! Your life IS worth EVERY PENNY!!!! You are being trained right now how to be a leader in this battle!!!!