Giving the Bolder Holder the Cold Shoulder

I haven't worn a bra since June 3rd. You're probably thinking, why do I care about Brandi's underwear? Well, I will tell you.

I took the girls out of confinement because the weight of them was pushing down on my chest and stomach, making the acid reflux way worse. But that's not the only reason I continue to let the girls run free.

When I first started out, I was VERY self-conscious. First of all, my bosom is pretty noticeable. Like I'm carrying around two large hedgehogs on my chest. The peaks also have a tendency to announce their state of mind about as often as a little man's little man during puberty. Like me, they seem to have a mind of their own and don't always take into consideration other people's feelings. They just pop up, and ain't shit you can do about it. Another thing I was not used to was the bounce and sway. Gravity is my girls' worst enemy, and it has taken its toll on them. Every little sway gave them reason to jiggle like a bag of jello.

The fun-bags were extraordinarily sensitive as well. They've been confined in their cells for about 20 years, and like most prisoners, one of the first things they wanted to do was check out the world outside but they were a little scared by the new stuff. I couldn't hug anyone except CJ because it felt too intimate. Seriously, my little brothers got side hugs and my friends got the awkward bubble back step. The good thing is, I doubt my brothers or friends thought I was behaving oddly because I'm often awkward and often dislike touching.

Then there is the fact that it is summer, and that means thinner clothes, lighter colors, and more sweating. There is no way to make my mountains into mole hills with a thick sweater, and trust me when I say that boob sweat is grosser when the armor doesn't take the brunt of it. The light colors of summer really need no explanation after that.

A few things really comforted me during the beginning of the Great Boobie Liberation. The first was a get-together with some friends, where I confessed that I had not been able to wear a boulder holder for a while, and all the ladies said they had no idea I was bra-less. CJ had confessed two days prior that it was extremely noticeable. The day after my meeting, though, I read an article about a high school senior who had not worn a bra for months and got sent to the principal's office because her male teacher felt it was inappropriate and distracting, despite the dark sweater and nipple stickers. The combination of the conversations and the article made me fully understand that it's really not me or the freed girls that were inappropriate, it was the thoughts and sexualization from "others" that was to blame for some of my insecurities. I am not responsible for the comfort of those around me, especially people I don't know, and the comfort of being loose far outweighed the discomfort of thinking people knew and judged. So there, Judgey McJudgerpants and all the little Judgelings. Another great comfort was a study done in France. The premise of the study was to find out if bras helped fight gravity. Please keep in mind, as I do, that this test was only done once in one area of France with a small (ish) sample group for a short time period. They concluded that bras are not helpful and may actually caused atrophy in the breast muscles that should keep them moderately behaved. About half the group reported stronger chest muscles and perkier puppies. As a curious person, I wanted to know if my headlights would develop into high beams.

Of course, up until the jug jockey became detrimental, I didn't want to ditch the bitch. It kept the cha-chas in check, protected them, and gave them a platform to stand on. Also, society says I gotta, and I already have issue with many social norms. Why would I subject myself to more ways for people to judge? (Seriously, middle school girls already made me bashful of the bongos.)

Third, my therapist and I discussed my situation. She authenticated my feelings and helped me realize that I am allowed to put up boundaries, even if I had not before. My body, my feelings, my decisions.

I realized yesterday that I have been without a bra for about 7 weeks. Seven weeks without pressure on my stomach; seven weeks without straps digging into my shoulders; seven weeks without looking for the damned thing because THAT is NOT where I put it last night, damn it. I have also come to realize that I may never have to buy another brassier again. I will never have to walk into Victoria's Secret only to end up frustrated and tired from trying to find a vessel big enough to fit my torpedoes. I will never have to spend $60 on a piece of clothing that only one other person sees (yes, $60 because the people who make the $14 bras don't make them in my size). I have Emancipated the Mammaries, and I am not going back.

I have realized that I don't think about it nearly as often as I did in the beginning either. I don't hug the girls to keep people from staring all the time. They don't get as excited as they used to, and I don't shy away from hugs like I did. I'm still conscious that they are there (where else would they be?), but the thought of what others are thinking doesn't give me nearly the same amount of anxiety as it used to. I don't know if the rack is getting firmer or movin' on up, but I do know I feel better about releasing the hounds.