Reaching 50 can be a mixed bag of emotions. For many, it brings a wave of regrets and a heightened awareness of aging. You might find yourself obsessively checking your retirement savings or feeling nostalgic about past choices. But with that age also comes a certain liberating attitude—an “I don’t care” mindset. You start to let go of the drama caused by overly dramatic friends, feel free to decline social invitations, and, as you step into that less-visible phase of life, comments about your appearance seem to fade. Or so I thought.
Hi, I’m Sarah, I’m 50, and I recently faced body-shaming on Instagram because of my large breasts.
My encounter with body-shaming began last Monday, but first, let’s clarify a few things. Yes, my breasts are natural. No, I didn’t ask for them to be this size, and honestly, I’m not sure why they keep growing. (Weight gain explains some of it, but not all.) I’ve even consulted three surgeons about a reduction—one quoted me $40K, another said I was too heavy for surgery, and the third just stared and said, “You need to fix this right away.” Yet, I still engage with life, wearing supportive bras and enjoying beach days, which is why I eagerly took a day off to try stand-up paddle boarding with my old friend Max, whom I hadn’t seen in 35 years.
The day was fantastic. I eventually got the hang of standing on the board, and Max was a great teacher. We enjoyed close encounters with pelicans and watched kids joyfully running into the surf. Afterward, we relaxed on the beach as Max shared the heart-wrenching story of his daughter who lost her battle with cancer six years earlier. In turn, I recounted my own experiences with heartbreak. We ended the day with delicious pork belly banh mi sandwiches.
It was such a perfect day that I decided to post a picture of myself on the paddle board to Instagram. I’ve always used Instagram as a digital scrapbook of my life—showcasing my rescue dogs, art projects, hikes, and time spent with friends. There was no intention to provoke; it was just a snapshot of a lovely day at the beach.
But then came the comments. At first, they were somewhat mild. “Well, you certainly won’t drown!” was the first jab. Then, things escalated rapidly. My friend Emma, or so I thought, commented, “I’m glad SOMEONE said something!” with a bunch of laughing emojis, implying I was somehow at fault. Another friend, Lisa, responded with “LMFAO!” and added, “WHY DO THEY KEEP GROWING?!” along with more laughing emojis. The hashtag #BigBoobProblems emerged as a favorite.
I attempted to downplay the comments, saying things like “Come on, guys” and “You do know I didn’t choose this, right?” But it was like tossing a pebble into the ocean—my words were lost. The onslaught of reminders about my body continued, and I was devastated. I already knew how I looked and didn’t anticipate people would seize the moment to remind me of it.
Amidst the body-positivity movement, if I had posted a picture of a larger body, I might have received supportive comments. But large breasts seem to remain a taboo topic—a violation of unwritten body rules. Is it because they’re often associated with sexuality? Likely. Even with our progressiveness, we still wrestle with deeply ingrained puritanical views.
I don’t want to think about what’s “bold” or “less bold.” I just want to document my life on Instagram without facing backlash for my body. After a few days of feeling hurt, I shared a simple meme with the word “Pause,” explaining in the comments that Instagram no longer brings me joy. I’ll miss the cute dog photos and recipes, but I can’t have it both ways.
That evening, still feeling upset, my new rescue dog—who I was beginning to doubt I had made the right choice in adopting—jumped onto the bed, nestled close to me, and provided the comfort I needed. I realized that true companionship means being able to be vulnerable without fear of ridicule.
If that’s what I can find in a dog rather than on Instagram, then so be it.