Yesterday, I was awful. I was cranky and sad and rude. Why? I made the mistake of trying to go shopping in stores I don’t even normally shop in trying to find tops and bralettes to flatter, disguise, or accentuate my new body. Granted, this body is temporary and there could be an argument for waiting, but I want to look and feel like a real human again as soon as possible.
When I was crying at the end of the day, Husband tried to help me get to the bottom of what was getting to me the most. What it came down to, essentially, is that I feel like I should be done grieving by now. I feel like I have had since Christmas to come to terms with my one breast removal, anyway, and that I should be embracing myself as I am. Husband’s response was the most typically “him” thing he’s said in a while. “Was your ability to cut yourself some slack located in your boob? Come on! It’s been a week. You couldn’t have prepared for this.”
Oh, I laughed. I laughed until I hurt. It didn’t fix everything. It didn’t pay for the shopping cart I made online which we probably can’t afford right now, didn’t take away the way I feel about what my chest looks like. It didn’t reverse how Daughter shivers when she sees me. So, what good was it? In that moment it let me know that Husband still treats me the same way, and it was exactly what I needed.