My Breast Implants Made Me More Insecure, Not Less

I believed that I would finally be lovable, finally be able to fit into dresses, and finally feel feminine . Yet it was when I removed them that I started to love myself. I now feel more feminine with my family and husband than I ever did searching externally for someone to adore me for my physical appearance alone. Growing up, I was never shown a healthy relationship with the body. I learned shame. In the media around me, I saw retouched, manufactured caricatures of women presented as the ideal. I thought I needed to force my body to become a different version of myself to finally feel like how a woman should look. I abandoned the silly, carefree, happy girl that I was and absorbed the insecurity. I was searching for others to approve of me in order to feel loved. I reduced my worth to merely the visual. Now I know my body is alive. It is my ally. It is a sacred vessel to experience the beauty of life. To create, to create life, and to create with life. It warns me of danger, it feels, it adapts. I reduced my worth to merely the visual. My body and all the different versions of myself have moved internationally, fallen in love, birthed children, started businesses, and nourished my family. I wish I had learned sooner that my body is a beautiful companion that I can fully embody to achieve my dreams. I wish I had other radiant women around me to demonstrate femininity to me. Instead, I had to learn the lessons through trial and error, through surgery, through pain. I believed my body was my only value Women have an interesting paradox. We are seen, we are beautiful, we are creative, we experience, we yearn, we desire to be loved. These feelings are part of what makes us women, but also can be used against us to sell us a correction, to make us appealing to others, to soften our humanity to be appropriate. I feel our shapes and curves—or lack thereof—and our sensual and aesthetic desires are part of what makes being a woman exciting. I wanted my implants to be an extension of the internal beauty I possessed and was searching for. I am a sensitive, deep thinker who grew up in a society that appreciated face value. I thought my internal depth and beauty would never be seen and loved, so implants would be the way to find love. In high school, the boys would overlook me and go for the girl with the C cup showing through her buttons. I constantly felt overlooked and disappointed. I thought my internal depth and beauty would never be seen and loved. Compounding situations like that are what eventually motivated me to go under anesthesia and permanently alter my body. The decision arose from the need to be needed. The longing for love. Back then, I confused love with being visually desired. My perspective has since evolved, but at 21, I was still figuring out my feelings, identity, and life. Love and the desire to be seen are very different from being ogled and gazed at. Now, I feel empowered to choose who gets to experience my beauty. My looks are not just for people to casually consume to make me feel worthy. Twenty-one-year-old me thought she was being mature, well researched, and finally going to become the image of the woman she wanted to be. She got a retail job selling shoes, saved money, researched surgeons, and drove 15 hours to Alabama to undergo an affordable procedure with a reputable surgeon. I believed that when I awakened, the boob fairy would have finally arrived and my happily ever after would begin. I changed my body, but I developed a new insecurity Did 450cc of silicone give me the happy ending I had desired? No. I think it gave me a new obsession and anxiety. I was now worried I would become stigmatized for being a "fake girl." I did get more attention from men, but it was confusing. Did they really like me? Would they like me if I didn't have the perfect body that they could lust after? Had having DDs really unlocked the mysteries of men? Honestly, it was quite disappointing. I wanted to be wanted. Then when I was wanted, I felt like it was for a fake version of myself. Additionally, I did not want to be seen as a fake person, since I prided myself on being real. The implants invoked a deep sense of reflection about society and its obsession with breasts. I reflected on how women were being reduced to just cleavage, and the polarizing stigma women face, where almost any decision about our appearance seems to invite unwanted remarks and judgments. I had to learn an entirely new way of dressing. I loved oversized things, but with a larger chest, they would make me appear bulky. I liked showing off the new cleavage in low-cut tops, but how much was "too much"? The changes in my body later helped me design clothing for women because I had personally experienced different body types. Do we listen when the body whispers? Besides the deep introspection and self-inflicted paradoxes, I became increasingly exhausted. I slept an average of 14 hours a night. Sometimes, I spent an entire day in bed. Sleeping for 18 hours at a time began to feel normal. I was always so exhausted. I felt like this was normal. I developed new backaches from carrying the added weight. Because my implants had been placed beneath the chest muscle, my chest also felt altered and weakened after surgery. I could no longer do push-ups. I ignored many of these signs because I liked how I looked and was afraid I would not be liked anymore if my implants were gone. Eventually though, you reach a point where you can no longer ignore the signals. They accumulate, and I began to be open and curious as to what my body was telling me. For most of my life, I have been in tune with my body. I can sense when something is off, but I could also override or ignore signals because I did not want to face them. After having my implants for approximately five years, I became more interested in doing health research. You reach a point where you can no longer ignore the signals. I had always identified with living a healthy life and being in tune with my body. The moment things clicked for me was when I discovered that I had an MTHFR gene variant. While researching it, I encountered women discussing breast implant illness and symptoms associated with their implants . They shared stories like mine. They shared stories about how they felt their life and vitality had returned after explant surgery . These women had done extensive independent research about health, inflammation, and environmental exposures. They shared exhaustion, brain fog, discomfort, and diminished vitality . Maybe the exhaustion I felt wasn't my new normal? These stories did not provide scientific proof. They were often ridiculed or dismissed, but they provided me with a clue. One of the biggest things about implants that you overlook in the excitement of finally getting boobs is the fact that breast implants are not considered lifetime devices . It was always in the back of my mind that I might eventually need another surgery to replace or remove them . Getting implants meant agreeing to an ongoing surgical cycle to maintain the cleavage I wanted. These women seemed relieved to be able to say, "You know what? I tried this. It may have harmed me, and I no longer need it." That strength to reevaluate changed me. I remember that after reading these stories, I just wanted to get the implants out as soon as possible. I felt powerless because I could not have them removed immediately. I had a foreign body inside me that I could not remove on my own. That felt deeply symbolic to me. I had the foreign idea that my body was unworthy and someone else would fix me, heal me, make me a woman. The loneliness around explanting In 2019, after five years, I decided to have my implants removed in the Netherlands. I was living there at the time. Through online forums, I found an extensive global list of surgeons and clinics experienced in explant surgery. Both procedures were lonely journeys. I had little to no emotional support. The topic of my implants was triggering. You chose this. Why would you do that to yourself? Are you sure? The most challenging response was from my fiancé at the time. He expressed support but also said that he was sad about the visual change. We are no longer together for various reasons. Why should we as women have to defend every choice pertaining to our bodies? Why do we have to defend past decisions when our knowledge and sense of self have evolved? It is not a failure to change our minds, to grow, to realize, with new information, that something no longer serves us. This change was the first time I listened to myself and did something for myself. I reclaimed my power by saying my body and beauty are mine. I will not change externally for the approval of others. I wanted to feel beautiful, chosen, worthy, included, loved, desired. I needed to love myself, accept myself, include myself. It was not external. Immediately after waking up, I was different. A weight was gone. I woke up after my explant surgery, and I could breathe. A weight was gone—not only 900cc of silicone but also the weight of craving others' validation of my appearance. The puffiness in my face around my eyes went down in a week. My eyes were bright again. I felt more vital and strong after surgery than I did in the five years prior. That's my experience, not a guarantee of what everyone will experience, but something shifted. The deepest healing was a return of trust. I trust my body to recover, to carry me, to create with me. I trust myself that I am worthy to exist and receive love. We are often sold transformation without being told the cost Women are constantly sold transformation. "Change this, and you will finally have confidence." "Buy this, and your life will become magical." "Try this trick, and you will finally be worthy of being seen." "With this product, you will emerge as the woman you were always supposed to be." The internal transformation gained via overcoming obstacles is tougher to sell. The love and confidence gained from coming to terms with perceived imperfections don't come in a pretty pink box. There is nothing wrong with wanting to be beautiful. With loving fashion. With admitting you have things you are insecure about and wish were different. That's human and part of the beauty of life. The love and confidence gained from coming to terms with perceived imperfections don't come in a pretty pink box. What happens when we are sold the dream of transformation without being invited to ask what the transformation may cost? Beauty becomes painful when we are constantly in battle with ourselves. What is the emotional cost? What happens to us as women when our natural bodies are perceived as incomplete? Our bodies change, grow, carry us, our children, our loves, and our life story. Signs of a life should not be shamed or viewed as defects. I thought beauty meant perfection. Now, I know it correlates with aliveness. Motherhood changed the meaning of my body Since removing my implants, I have had two children whom I successfully breastfed. I say this with the utmost gratitude because becoming a mom has further transformed my relationship to my body and how I view my breasts. During and after pregnancy, my body was no longer about the visual appeal for others. My breasts became a source of nourishment for my growing children. I was grateful that I did not have the implants because they naturally grew to approximately the size they had been with the implants. I was so thankful to be able to have the bond with my children through breastfeeding. I was amazed at the brilliance of the design of our female bodies and breasts. How we could create and sustain life. What a miracle. I used to see my body and breasts through the eyes of men and their approval. Now I see my body as a way to create, whether through my children, my designs, my writing, my garden, or my food. I can reflect on why I felt like my value was only to be appreciated visually, but now I know that I am worth so much more. Before the implants, I was worthy. After the implants, I was worthy. We are all worthy, beautiful, and lovable. Love is not dependent on an idealized version of how a body should look. Love, like our bodies, evolves. I am happy I have gone through these challenges to say with experience that I would not get implants again, but I do not judge those who want them or have them. I know some women love their implants and feel entirely comfortable with their choice; my experience was different. There is more to me than just having breasts. I was young, craving love and approval. Taught that my worth was only how people could easily digest me. Now, I am a woman, a mother, a wife, a business founder, and a designer. There is more to me than just having breasts. I wish more women were told that. I wish we had more empowered female role models. Our daughters and sons need to see women shining beautifully, perfectly imperfect. Sometimes the transformation we initially sought isn't the final lesson. Sometimes the lesson is the transformation.