After my recent top surgery, I’ve embarked on a journey to reconnect with my body. The other night, my daughter, Lily, cuddled up next to me after I finished reading her bedtime stories. Without a second thought, she rested her head on my chest and wrapped her arms around me. This sweet moment was a familiar one, but as she nestled against my pectoral muscle, I realized it was the first time in months that I felt comfortable enough to allow it.
My chest is still healing from a double incision mastectomy, and for the first time in a long while, I didn’t brace myself for discomfort when my kids approached me. They’ve been so considerate, giving me gentle hugs, but it’s tough to trust kids to be cautious when they can be a little too enthusiastic—like squeezing a ketchup bottle too hard. That moment with Lily made me realize that my progress was not just about trusting my children or my surroundings; it was about learning to trust my body again.
As a nonbinary transgender person, I understand that my journey is deeply personal. I’m also a parent, partner, writer, and a huge fan of peanut butter and The Office. My decision to undergo a mastectomy wasn’t driven by cancer or any medical issues; it was a necessary step for my gender affirmation. I want to emphasize that no transgender individual should ever feel obligated to share their story or seek medical validation for their identity. I choose to share my experiences to provide representation and connection for others who might need it.
My Surgical Journey
Three months ago, I underwent what is often referred to as top surgery. For me, the presence of my breasts had caused intense dysphoria, hindering my ability to present myself authentically. My medical team, including doctors and therapists, deemed the surgery essential for my overall well-being, but the journey hasn’t been without its challenges.
The initial days post-surgery were a blur of painkillers and fatigue. I was sore and itchy, grappling with an overwhelming sense of exhaustion that felt different from the usual tiredness of parenting three kids. Every small task seemed monumental. I shuffled instead of walked, and even standing too long caused discomfort. My movements felt restricted, and I hunched over as if trying to shield my chest from any potential harm.
Having spent years trying to feel at home in my body, I found myself oscillating between dissociation and awareness of my physical sensations. Even when I didn’t feel at peace with my body, I recognized its strength. I had relied on that strength to push through workouts that alleviated my anxiety and depression.
Facing Fears and Embracing Change
While the surgery was an incredible affirmation of my identity, I was terrified of my body falling apart. When my surgeon told me I could remove the scar tape after two weeks, I was consumed with dread, convinced my incisions would burst open. As I pulled at the tape, nausea washed over me, and I succumbed to an emotional breakdown.
Having never experienced childbirth, I gained a newfound respect for the trauma that all bodies endure after significant surgery or illness. The body I knew before surgery was not the same as the one I was becoming acquainted with.
Gradually, I began to heal. I found myself standing taller, daring to broaden my chest to the world. My first stroll on the treadmill felt as exhilarating as climbing a mountain, and lifting my arms overhead was both an act of defiance and liberation. After six weeks, I was cleared to resume my usual activities, but navigating the physical limitations of recovery was another hurdle. Healing was one thing; reclaiming my confidence in my body was another challenge entirely.
Reclaiming Confidence
I often question whether the sensations in my chest are signs of trouble or just part of the healing process—this is a question I continue to explore. I’m learning to be patient with myself during everyday tasks. I can now tackle housework, return to my job, and even carry my kids for piggyback rides. Yet, there remains a certain stiffness in my movements, and I constantly wonder if I’m pushing myself too hard.
Exercise has become a way to gauge my capabilities; rather than focusing on limitations, I’m beginning to celebrate what my body can accomplish. I feel a sense of pride and gratitude as I work towards the fitness I desire in a body that feels more like my own.
Yoga has long been integral to my sobriety and serves as a grounding tool when I feel the urge to escape my body. I resumed practice two months post-surgery. By three months, I was able to bring my mat to the wall for support, kneel down, and cradle my hands around my head. Taking a deep breath, I kicked my legs into the air. The first attempt didn’t succeed, but it was enough to shake off my doubts. With a second try, I found myself upside down, trembling and wobbling, reminding myself to breathe. I couldn’t help but giggle at the joy of it all.
Trusting My Journey
Learning to trust my body again involves not only believing that I won’t fall apart physically but also knowing I can piece myself back together after each emotional upheaval. I’m navigating this journey with a mix of uncertainty and grace.
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Conclusion
In summary, my experience after top surgery has been one of learning to reconnect with my body. Through healing and rediscovering my strength, I’m slowly rebuilding trust in myself, navigating both physical and emotional challenges along the way.