"a girl's gotta fight for a rightful share"

I'm still trying to unpack some of my pre-mastectomy beliefs. It's possible some of them can be chalked up to blind panic (In fact, it's entirely possible at least half of the past three years can be chalked up to blind panic. Which isn't to say I'm not still responsible for what I've been doing, just that it's possible more was going on than I understood while it was happening.)

The three big things that haunted me, and I haven't entirely laid to rest are

1. I thought I wasn't going to be the same person after the mastectomy.
2. I thought I wouldn't ever leave the house again because of my lack of boobs/not-boobs (the stage I'm in now)/fake boobs.
3. I thought no one would ever find me attractive again.

From the bottom. I also thought this when I had my ovaries out. I literally contemplated going out and finding someone to sleep with because obviously, once I stopped lubricating, once I put on some more weight, once I had hot flashes and whatever other joys I can attribute to premature menopause, no one but Light would ever even look at me again.

There are a couple problems with this.

A, it lead me into a disastrous relationship. True, it taught me some things about myself, in the end it made my relationship with Light much stronger and it did serve me as something to spend all my time thinking about, which meant I didn't have much time left over for the freaking out about cancer.

B, Light's not a 'but'. While I understand the intellectual possibility that some day we might part ways (Hint: I totally don't), he's the reason I've done all this self-sustaining work, he's the beginning and end of all my days, and if I never, ever have sex with anyone else ever again, that doesn't make me any less the luckiest woman in the world. (aside: i'd still like to kiss some girls, though).

C, it's amazing how much medical literature about menopause and intimacy boils down to the word "lube."

D, even if I do decide that non-monogamy is the way to go, if someone's rejecting me because I've done all these crazy positive things for myself, I'm pretty sure, even if I'm devastated in the short run, in the long run, he/she's an ass on par with Asshat and my life will be infinitely better without them. (short story: abusive ex, in addition to wanting me to be quiet and not-thrashing around during sex, objected to both my tattoos and my piercings. I think there are ways this still makes me timid).

As to the next point, it totally made sense to keep my expectations low and not push myself. And it's true, I don't know if I'll ever manage to find a healthy way to look at myself, and part of why I didn't want to leave the house was because being small-chested made me feel fat in a way that I hadn't before. (not that I hadn't felt fat before, but this was a new, even worse way. For the first time in my life, my stomach was larger than my boobs. I'd never looked down and seen stomach before). But, it turns out, I really like my friends, and I really like almost all of the things I go out and do, and I'm not willing to let my self-image, however abysmal, keep me from doing them.

Short list of recent past. TV night at P/K/DC's house. A Joy Kills Sorrow show. A Neal Stephenson reading. Dinner at Journeyman for my 5 year anniversary. An Antje Duvekot show. Dinner and rockband at hips and hands' house. Game night here. Dinner with my brothers and their SOs here.

Short list of near future: Rebecca Lobe concert, Canobie Lake Haunted houses , Boston Book Festival volunteer orientation, another game night, Alice Hoffman at PSB and roadtripping with Purple. I'm even going back to work in two weeks, and contemplating returning to the gym, though it's possible I'm not ready for semi-public nudity.

More to follow, I feel like this entry is already too long and too confessional, without enough wry self-deprecating humor.

"a girl's gotta fight for a rightful share"

I'm still trying to unpack some of my pre-mastectomy beliefs. It's possible some of them can be chalked up to blind panic (In fact, it's entirely possible at least half of the past three years can be chalked up to blind panic. Which isn't to say I'm not still responsible for what I've been doing, just that it's possible more was going on than I understood while it was happening.)

The three big things that haunted me, and I haven't entirely laid to rest are

1. I thought I wasn't going to be the same person after the mastectomy.
2. I thought I wouldn't ever leave the house again because of my lack of boobs/not-boobs (the stage I'm in now)/fake boobs.
3. I thought no one would ever find me attractive again.

From the bottom. I also thought this when I had my ovaries out. I literally contemplated going out and finding someone to sleep with because obviously, once I stopped lubricating, once I put on some more weight, once I had hot flashes and whatever other joys I can attribute to premature menopause, no one but Light would ever even look at me again.

There are a couple problems with this.

A, it lead me into a disastrous relationship. True, it taught me some things about myself, in the end it made my relationship with Light much stronger and it did serve me as something to spend all my time thinking about, which meant I didn't have much time left over for the freaking out about cancer.

B, Light's not a 'but'. While I understand the intellectual possibility that some day we might part ways (Hint: I totally don't), he's the reason I've done all this self-sustaining work, he's the beginning and end of all my days, and if I never, ever have sex with anyone else ever again, that doesn't make me any less the luckiest woman in the world. (aside: i'd still like to kiss some girls, though).

C, it's amazing how much medical literature about menopause and intimacy boils down to the word "lube."

D, even if I do decide that non-monogamy is the way to go, if someone's rejecting me because I've done all these crazy positive things for myself, I'm pretty sure, even if I'm devastated in the short run, in the long run, he/she's an ass on par with Asshat and my life will be infinitely better without them. (short story: abusive ex, in addition to wanting me to be quiet and not-thrashing around during sex, objected to both my tattoos and my piercings. I think there are ways this still makes me timid).

As to the next point, it totally made sense to keep my expectations low and not push myself. And it's true, I don't know if I'll ever manage to find a healthy way to look at myself, and part of why I didn't want to leave the house was because being small-chested made me feel fat in a way that I hadn't before. (not that I hadn't felt fat before, but this was a new, even worse way. For the first time in my life, my stomach was larger than my boobs. I'd never looked down and seen stomach before). But, it turns out, I really like my friends, and I really like almost all of the things I go out and do, and I'm not willing to let my self-image, however abysmal, keep me from doing them.

Short list of recent past. TV night at P/K/DC's house. A Joy Kills Sorrow show. A Neal Stephenson reading. Dinner at Journeyman for my 5 year anniversary. An Antje Duvekot show. Dinner and rockband at hips and hands' house. Game night here. Dinner with my brothers and their SOs here.

Short list of near future: Rebecca Lobe concert, Canobie Lake Haunted houses , Boston Book Festival volunteer orientation, another game night, Alice Hoffman at PSB and roadtripping with Purple. I'm even going back to work in two weeks, and contemplating returning to the gym, though it's possible I'm not ready for semi-public nudity.

More to follow, I feel like this entry is already too long and too confessional, without enough wry self-deprecating humor.