Today’s Boobday post contains an essay I wrote about what it means to me to share my body on the internet. I will put in quotes what I shared there and add a few more words here if you don’t mind.
When I first started sharing “boob pics” on the internet, it would produce a unique and sometimes rush-like feeling. Most often when I post a photo I’ve had to push past vulnerability, fears of all kinds, and my own rigid and outrageously high expectations for what I produce. I push past the doubts because I know it feels good to create something that evokes a positive response, and it feels good to have sex appeal, and it feels good to project confidence.
So I publish, then dance between the fears and doubts and the memories of compliments and my momentary acceptances; pirouetting in the high of swirling emotions until the first notification.
Reading a little about porn, sexual desensitization, and the Coolidge Effect I learned that my drive to post photos of myself follows a pattern of addiction. I might as well admit that there are real physical pulls to feel that the rush of insecurity and then reassurance. I could blog about anything, but there was a reason I chose a sex blog, there has to be a reason I like being out there like this. This dopamine/endorphin/adrenaline rush happens every.single.time I post, a different degree each time. And you can count on the fact that there is a come-down.
The first time my tits met the internet was two summers ago. My husband and I decided to share a profile on an erotic stories/chat site and our profile contained several photos of me unclothed, face included. Getting comments on my photos made me believe I was beautiful, sexy, desired. I may have never thought I was sexy until that point, I can’t really remember. The boost in my self esteem positively affected several areas of my life. It wasn’t about a high at the beginning, it was about figuring out I could be beautiful to many different types of men (and women).
However, the joy of getting compliments wore off slowly and each time I believed it a little less. But I was still looking for that rush, it started to take more shock, more kink, more vulnerability, more humiliation to get that boost of dopamine. After a few months the nightly chat sessions my husband and I had with lots of different men turned into weekly sessions, followed by monthly, followed by forgetting the password to the site. Like with most addictions I had become desensitized to the stimulus, bored and uninterested.
So I started a blog and sharing my photos there. It felt amazing to share true thoughts and feelings, it was so much better than sharing photos and chasing compliments. Even better was sharing photos and words together, but the two combined felt simply perfect. Then along came Boobday, and the perfect excuse to regularly post photos without feeling like I was doing it for bumps in my stats or a rush.
What Boobday has done for me is evolved that dance, slowed me down a bit by cutting out some of the fears, and taken vulnerability out of the equation. We are all sharing our special qualities and our audience appreciates our differences.
As I slowed down it wasn’t so hard to see the beauty anymore. I am no longer chasing a high, I’m learning about human beings. Not everyone likes gigantic breasts, and huge nipples. I sort of thought “the bigger the better” before, following these silly porn ideals I guess. So, as I come to truly believe that my tits are great simply because they belong to me, I accept more of the things I don’t like about them. And sharing them becomes less about a rush, but more about confirming I love myself.
This photo celebrates not only the obvious underside curve and pendulum-like boobs I sport, but it portrays the top of the cleavage curve, I claim it as distinctly “G”. I know it may seem trivial to some, but I really didn’t like how the top of my cleavage always seems to curve a little to the left. This dissatisfaction is probably a derivative of my long-ingrained belief that having a nice layer of softness over my body (i.e. being overweight) isn’t a good thing. So automatically I am inclined to be ashamed at yet another curve my body decides to take. But this photo shows that curve is okay. My cleavage isn’t straight. My breasts are fuller some days and saggier other days. I now accept the fate and these facts that my beauty shall evolve (rather than fade), and I am no longer afraid.