Breast Implant Removal: Mommy's Journey in Radical Self-Love

Sitting in my gown, mask, compression knee highs, compression socks and saline drip started, I was a sweaty mess. It was 11:30am, surgery would start at 1pm, and I hadn’t eaten or drank since the night before.

Lucy (my nurse) said, “you seem nervous, honey, are you?” Well yes, Lucy. I haven’t had surgery since my C-section in 2013, and now I have three babies at home to consider. This is no small thing to me. Plus, I’m usually two cups of coffee in by this time of day, so my f**king head has a heartbeat. I just want to get this over with.

To calm my anxiousness, I scrolled through pics and videos of my babies for the next hour. All I could think was “How did I even get here? Why did I do this to myself?”

Backstory

I was born and raised in Tampa, a city that joins the plastic surgery ranks of Miami, L.A. and Scottsdale. Breast implants are everywhere, including sitting inside most of the women that I love.

For context, this is what plastic surgery looked like through the eyes of a young girl with body insecurities, I mean, conditioned beliefs that were designed to keep me distracted from things that really matter (more on this part later):

Our greater neighborhood area’s monthly newsletter is filled with plastic surgery ads.
Plastic surgery billboards and ads cover the city, wrapped in heavily airbrushed photos of the ‘perfect beauty’ standard (says who?).
Girls are gifted breast implants after high school graduation.
Mothers gift themselves mommy makeovers (generally includes implants / lift) when they’re done having children.
The radio station GIVES AWAY sets of breast implants for Christmas, for goodness sake. To enter, women write into the station, explaining why they want implants.

Before I go on, I want to make something clear. I’m not judging anyone who chooses to have plastic surgery. I’m a fan of your body, your choice… and this is a no judge zone. Rather, this post is to give you some background into the evolution of *my* choices for *my* body. And, hopefully, to encourage you to shift your lens when you look at your own beautiful and perfectly made body.

Journey to implants

I drank the kool aid, and subscribed to the notion that I needed to put artificial bags inside of my body to feel worthy. And in May of 2012, I went under the knife and got my twins (slang for breast implants).

My doctor advised going a little bigger than I originally planned. His suggestion was that I go with a larger implant, since “all of his patients regret the smaller implants'' and “my chest area was on the wider side and could accommodate a larger implant.” Like a good little patient, I trusted my doctor (sounds familiar to what we hear after birth, right?).

I woke up from implant surgery feeling like there were massive bricks on my chest. At first sight, I freaked a little inside that they were damn near up to my chin. I was ready for them to ‘drop’ and settle into place, hoping to look more natural.

Thank goodness, surgery recovery went well. My implants settled a bit (dropped) over time, and yet I still found myself trying to cover them up. Loose tops covered my new boobs, but made my overall appearance off balance and top heavy. Slim fitted tops made me look like me in the waist area, but the massive cleavage made me uncomfortable.

Pre-implants I thought that bigger breasts would help me ‘fill in’ bikini tops and shirts. Quite the opposite was true. After they were in, nothing fit. Tops that were large enough to accommodate my breasts were awkward fitted around the waist. Swimwear tops were a joke. These bags were not designed for my body, period.

There were moments where I felt like they were too big, or that I should have gone smaller, but I was afraid to admit that I may have made the wrong decision. Good little patients didn’t speak out or speak up.

Pregnancy with breast implants

I got my implants right around my 29th birthday, I was dating my (now) husband and there were no baby plans on the horizon.

Then in early 2013, our plans changed quickly and we decided to start a family. My less-than-a-year-old augmented breasts grew with pregnancy. And they grew, and they grew and they grew… right along with my discomfort.

When my more mature milk came in a couple days after Ethan was born, they resembled two volleyballs (cup size H after birth). I could barely move with two rock hard boulders, my back burned from the extra weight, nothing supported them and I had massive regret.

Once I was cleared to begin exercising (6 weeks postpartum), I was still breastfeeding (pumping) so they were still way larger than ‘normal.’ The thing is, there wasn’t a sports bra on earth that would hold these boulders. I often wore two sports bras and couldn’t really do jumping jacks, run or anything that required jumping.

This part of the story repeated itself with baby #2 and #3. And each time I finished my breastfeeding journey, I felt some relief.

Journey to body positivity

When we moved to Chicago (2015 - 2017), I noticed that there were hardly any plastic surgery billboards, fake boobs (I can usually spot em) or talk of procedures in Mom groups. And, there were no unwarranted body comments during my pregnancy with Liviya while we lived in the Midwest.

What a difference from my pregnancies in Florida (Ethan ‘13 and Imani ‘18), where plastic is widespread, and it seemed like everyone had something to say about my weight, belly size, shape and so on. I started to see my hometown, and body, through a new lens.

Liviya & Mommy at her 1st birthday party

Shortly after we moved back to Florida (2017), Liviya started walking. One day, she walked over to the scale in my bathroom, stepped on and looked down, mirroring Mommy’s morning routine. I died a little inside as I watched her take on my behavior. My relationship with my body wasn’t a healthy one. Seeing one of the most perfect little humans I’ve been blessed to grow stand on a scale brought up a load of emotions. I’ll be damned if she inherits the bullsh*t I was fed. That day, I threw my scale in the trash and haven’t known my weight since. I have to say - it’s freeing AF.

Why stop at the scale? Weight wasn’t the only pain point that I had with my body. If I tossed the scale, perhaps it was time to reconsider my breast implants. Liviya didn’t only see me weigh myself every morning. She (& the other kids) see me get in & out of the shower, get dressed and wear bikini tops. They saw Mommy’s boobs daily, and showing them real felt important.

Discovering the Dangers of Implants

At some point during my dive into all things self-love and body positivity, I stumbled across breast implant illness. I joined a large FB community and browsed story after story of women with implants that were suffering a multitude of health issues, ranging from fatigue, brain fog, muscle pain and weakness, insomnia, slow healing, headaches, bowel issues, infections, food intolerances, cold hands and feet, organ (liver, kidney, etc.) problems, mental health issues such as depression and anxiety, blood pressure issues, and more.

I’m no expert on breast implant illness, but I will say two things:

There is no official diagnosis, and there aren’t really any studies. Such studies that could save women’s lives might shake up a $15.43 billion dollar industry (annually in North America), but I digress.
I believe women.

Journey to Explant

In the Breast Implant Illness Facebook community, I found inspiration in stories of explanting, reclamation of health, and self-love. The two bags of silicone that once brought me confidence now made me nauseous. They felt like ticking time bombs on my chest.

I didn’t feel like I was being real with my babies, the three little people that have lived inside of me. They look to me as an example, including what breasts are ‘supposed to’ look like. Teaching them humanness is something that I’m learning as I go.

Implants were the final physical evidence of the patriarchal conditioning that I was sold. The stories that kept me playing small my entire life. The messages that tell us to: shrink our waist, enlarge our breasts, plump our lips, tan our skin, cover our grays, suck out fat, appease men, people please, be quiet and ‘so pretty,’ etc.

I am no longer willing to risk a single minute of this beautiful life, watching my babies grow. So on 2/16/21, I removed almost 3 pounds of silicone and the surrounding capsule (en bloc capsulectomy).

I’m reclaiming my health, and I want my minutes back.

Minutes spent on the scale, and in the mental rollercoaster that ensued each day.

Minutes counting calories consumed and calories burned.

Minutes spent NOT loving the healthy vessel that I was gifted.

Minutes spent researching plastic surgeons to put them in, and then take them out.

Minutes spent in surgery and recovery.

Minutes spent thinking unkind thoughts about my worth.

Minutes that I was distracted from what really matters.

With love…

Sharing this story felt scary, and important. Plastic surgery and breast implant talk was taboo, but I believe there’s power in sharing our stories. Since opening up about this in my little corner of the internet, I’ve had messages from women, mothers, friends that either want to explant or are cancelling their breast implant surgery. Your messages confirm my belief that we must open up the conversation and continue to share.

It’s time for us to reclaim our health, give ourselves radical self-love and release old stories. For us, and for the next generation. Little eyes are watching us, and emulating what we BE.

What will you do with your minutes?