Somewhere between being pregnant and not, I decided to quit the underwire. Who knew that fighting against the patriarchy could be so comfortable?
When I was a kid, I couldn’t wait until I was old enough to wear bras. I’m sure I’m not alone in this, right? We couldn’t wait to shave our legs, make our own decisions, quit naps and veggies, and stay up late. And then all of a sudden we arrive here and realize most of adulthood is a bunch of responsibility wrapped in false choice. Am I right?
When I got pregnant, it was somewhere around the 3rd trimester when wearing underwire bras became too uncomfortable. I switched to shelf bra maternity camis and figured the growing belly was enough support/who cares what I look like anyway I’m pregnant/comfort first. Then I graduated to nursing bras, which I also hated as an extension of hating nursing. After that brief 2 year hiatus, I went back to my old bras when they fit again after a grueling tour of Insanity with Shaun T. Living a life of discomfort, constant readjustment, and skin irritation. Repeat x3.
But no! I am a grown woman, an adult if you will. I make my own choices! I do. not. have to wear an underwire bra! Really, I do not. And I have not for a year and I bet you no one has even noticed. I was living in discomfort all for an image that no one else could see.
Who decides these things? The patriarchy?! Well, maybe, but ultimately the real answer, my friends, is I do. Only I decide which bra I wear. Or if I wear one! Period. No need to burn your bra if you wear one that suits you. You have more choices in this life than you realize. Exercise those choices. Share your newfound freedom and happiness with others. Live life on your terms only. Rinse. Repeat.