In May of 1998, I had breast augmentation surgery. Yep, a Boob Job.
When I was twelve years old and walking home from junior high school, a seemingly innocent thing happened to me. There were three boys walking about twenty feet behind me on the opposite side of the street. One of them yelled out, “Hey Rayanne, you’re a surfer’s dream…” I just ignored them, hoping and praying they wouldn’t say the second part, but they did, “Flat as a board and ugly as a skag.” And then they wailed with laughter – they were so funny. Though I won’t, I could tell you each of their names, because that moment is etched in my brain and on my forever twelve-year old heart.
The sad thing is, I was just twelve! Puberty hadn’t even reared its ugly head.
They didn’t know they were hurting me, that they were changing my life – that they were changing forever how I would view myself. I was raised to have no fear, to believe I could achieve and be anything that I wanted. From that moment, all I wanted was to be beautiful. And from that moment, I would fight through life, hoping to find love and feel beautiful. But I was smart too and usually, I was able to overcome my feelings of inadequacy. I was long and lean, played multiple sports and participated in theater – on the outside, I appeared to have incredible self-confidence. And I knew – deep down – that what those boys said shouldn’t matter, I didn’t want it to, anyway.
I grew up and went on to marry and have children. After many years, my marriage floundered and we grew apart. We wanted it to work and we tried, desperately tried. The father of my kids was a police officer and he started have nightmares brought on by his work, dreams that were so vivid that he started talking and thrashing in his sleep. He also started having other kinds of dreams, dreams about women. Women with big boobs. I knew those dreams were not about me – after breastfeeding four kids? They were for sure not about me. All of sudden, I was twelve-years old again. And it hurt.
All I wanted was to let go of that old, way-too-familiar pain, and I started to do research and find out all I could about the surgery. My family doctor was angry with me for even considering, he told me I was fine the way I was and I didn’t need to do this to my body. He asked how long had I been thinking about it. I told him ever since I saw the fabulous Raquel Welch in 1 Million Years BC. I had been thinking about it for a long time, but I always brushed it aside because I didn’t want it to matter. My doc reluctantly signed the paper work for the surgeon and my surgery was scheduled. I never hesitated or had a second thought, it was going to happen.
I have to tell you, it hurt like hell. For about three weeks, I wondered what I had done, why had I done it. And sadly, it didn’t help my marriage, like I had hoped. It did help my self-esteem, but I incessantly worried everyone would find out and then I would be judged because I had done it. I have been thinking about this exposition for many months, but when I saw the trailer for Miss Representation yesterday, I knew it was time.
The bottom line is that words matter. What we say to people and how we say it matters. What the media says doesn’t matter. Men have insecurities, too. The pressures and demands from work and family or relationships are great. Somehow, we all need to look past the outside and see the heart and mind. Know a person. People judge, they discriminate – but is that in our nature or are we trained or nurtured to do so?
I am forty-eight years old. I am proud to be where I am in my life. I won’t ever do Botox. I had braces. I don’t dye my hair. I wear very little make-up and I hate high heels. And yes, I had a boob job, but no, I am not sorry I did. And I do not have shame for doing so. I am thankful this surgery exists for the simple fact that Breast Cancer exists and claims boobs and lives. So, you see, it had nothing to do with being stuck up or ego, it had to do with lack of self-esteem and wanting to be loved. Exactly the opposite of what most people think…
I know now that I didn’t need it to be successful or beautiful or to be loved.
Something I should have known all along.
**The Art of Exposition is an ongoing series about life lessons and the truths we often neglect.
Rayanne Thorn, @ray_anne is the Marketing Director for the online recruiting software company, Broadbean Technology. She is also a proud mother of four residing in Laguna Beach, California, and a contributor for Blogging4Jobs. Connect with her on LinkedIn.












{ 12 comments… read them below or add one }
Serendipity. Moments before I read this, another good friend posted something on Facebook. Slightly different take, but I think you’ll appreciate:
If you didn’t hear it with your own ears, or see it with your own eyes, don’t invent it with your small mind and share it with your big mouth.
Hi James-
I had read that same thing on Facebook – love it and agree!
Thanks for commenting – enjoy your weekend!
-Rayanne
Rayanne,
I just read your post and think it is absolutely wonderful for you to share a story that was so personal. You did a great job telling the story and there was a great message at the end. Thanks for sharing!
Peter
Wow, thanks Peter— I have to tell you, I was scared to death to tell this story. But this is my year– my year of Burning Fear. I never want my daughters to feel as I did – that they are not good enough just the way they are- the way nature created them. Thank you so much for your comment – it means a great deal…
-Rayanne
Ray,
Love this.
I’m not sure I agree that what the media says doesn’t matter, but I do agree that what, “What we say to people and how we say it matters.” And I’d probably argue, at least for me, that it matters a lot more.
I too have many of those 12-year-old comments burned into my heart and into my head.
Thanks for sharing.
-Mira
Hey Mira-
Thanks for commenting – thank you, thank you, thank you! – I think maybe you misunderstood my media comment. It was my attempt to say that it doesn’t matter that the media thinks we should look like a Barbie Doll – that is not truth. The truth is that we each possess an inner beauty and when allowed, it shines through and overwhelms whatever our outside looks like. I want better for my daughters, I want them to believe it when I say they are lovely – to believe it when someone professes love to them, to believe it when they hear that they can do or be whatever they want.
And of course, it matters more what people say directly to us. It always will.
Difficult to share stuff like this, so difficult, but necessary…
-Rayanne
Rayanne,
I *did* misunderstand your comment. And now that I get it, I completely agree with you.
It is difficult to share stuff like this. I love that you have found a way to heal/grow from so many of your personal experiences through writing. So amazing. And leaves me, always, with so much to think about.
-Mira
Thanks again, Mira. I appreciate so much you taking the time to let me know….
You are an amazing, inspiring woman. As I age, get grey hair, shrink (I’m only 4’11 to start with), deal with my own issues, I often think about the people I love, friends and family. I could give a s)(@#*$ what they look like, why do I think they care? I finally love more from the inside out then from the outside in. It took 40 years to get it….how do we accelerate this acceptance for our children? Great post.
Thanks so much Dina– I think aside from the purpose to self-heal, is the purpose to do exactly what you have stated – try and shorten the learning curve for my kids. I think it has helped somewhat, my 22-year old approached me a few days ago and asked me again – why I had done it. I tried to explain and I will keep on explaining. They need to know, they need to hear it. And while my daughters sometimes think I am afraid of aging, I actually welcome it. I love the age I am and I do not fear the future – writing it all – confessing it all has helped me with that. I don’t have such an unusual life – we all have stories, I just see reason – I need to see reason. And in the seeing, I am compelled to share my observations.
No one will hold anything over my head, ever. Only I can do that.
-Rayanne
Whoa. Awesome post. I am on a volunteer board that just sponsored a screening of Miss Representation. That movie touched every woman in the room. Can’t recommend it enough.
And Whoa. You and I are the same age? You hardly look it. And who could imagine that behind your vivacious personality and obvious good looks there were self esteem issues? Not me. When I see you, I think, “there goes one beautiful, confident woman”.
But as the movie tells us, we’re all victims of the media and the narrow definition of beauty. So glad you’re brave enough to share your story! Thank you!
Awww, sweet – thanks for commenting Carmen- and thanks for reminding me about Miss Representation. I have wanted to see it with my daughters, I will now pursue that a bit more.
We all have terrors or skeletons hiding in our closets or pasts.
It has been my year for burning fear. I think we often fear someone who knows “who we really are” will out us. Even though that one person we once were has been long gone…
Thanks for commenting here, Carmen. I have admired you for many years and it means a lot that you would leave a few words – on one of my most personal posts…
I have found it painful, but also freeing and strengthening to release the gunk I have kept bottled up for so long – so maybe that is what you see – “my gunk-free strength”
Cheers!
-Rayanne
{ 1 trackback }