What Happened When First Going Flat—It Didn’t Suck (Much)

There is freedom in not having breasts.

Sure, losing them to cancer sucks—less personal choice, more healthcare imperative.

But once I got over the shock (and made the aggressive decision for a bilateral mastectomy with aesthetic flat closure), I realized this cancer would change more than just my chest.

Questions started pinging around my brain, like: Who do I want to be going into my next chapter? Who/what do I value most and how do I best show up for that? What can I create now that has meaning and purpose?

I knew better than to try and find answers yet, knowing I might feel wildly different after surgery. And especially once the pathology came in that would dictate whether the next six months of my life would be spent deep in chemo, radiation and drug therapies.

The biggest surprise in the first six weeks post-surgery?

Going flat was freeing. It made me feel like my original self again—the feisty pre-teen that was brave and focused and believed anything was possible if you worked hard.

I rediscovered the girl who wrote poetry and stories and plays about heroines before boobs and boys and patriarchal expectations took up permanent space in her head.

Of course, not all cancer survivors will feel this way. Perhaps it’s easier for me because I’m postmenopausal, in a happy relationship not based on breasts and (mostly) beyond caring what those enmeshed in the patriarchy think about my body.

I’ve always enjoyed looking well put together and have fond memories of my smaller breasted days when clothes seemed better designed for my body. (Ever notice that most runway models sport almost invisible breasts?)

Looking down and seeing a flat chest after surgery was strangely liberating, especially once I tried to dress it (minus those damned bras).

I’d bought a few loose button-down shirts for recovery (and raided the hubby’s closet as needed) because they were the only things you can get in and out of by yourself for a few weeks.

Boy was that depressing—walking around in frumpy clothes made me hyper-focus on fashion. What would fit my new body? Would I need to toss most of my things?

Turns out letting go of the stuff that no longer worked was trumped by getting a new chance to redefine my look. Fashion was—and is—an integral part of how I feel joyful.

Doubly true when the pathology results came in—the cancer was gone! No more treatment and I was now free to focus on my future. (BTW, it strangely took a while to process this. I was so prepared for the worst-case scenario, that it seemed surreal—for weeks—that I was lucky enough to be granted a reprieve.)

With the encouragement of my most fashionista friend Rebecca, I gradually tried on the staples in my closet: the v-neck shirts and dresses that I figured were unlikely to make the post-breast cut. (My assumptions were mostly wrong on this, replaced by a new perspective on what can work for flatties.)

Some days I could only try on one or two tops before my sutures started to hurt and I had to stop. But it was enough to get a pretty good idea of what was going to work on my new body. Plus, since I was already 100% clear on my best colors, I could focus just on those.

The big question was how did I see my style going forward—what changes would align with my next chapter?

Since I couldn’t shop in person—still low energy and unable to carry more than 5 pounds—I went on-line, quickly realizing that resale sites made the most sense for me. Why invest more until I was confident in how I wanted to put myself together? Poshmark became my friend, with the occasional find on ThredUp and eBay. (FWIW, Poshmark quality tends to be higher for mid-range to luxury clothes).

I set a few parameters: I’d shop just for tops since my pants and skirts and dresses seemed fine for now; each item had to be a whole-hearted YES; the most I would spend initially on any one item was $30 before shipping/taxes—my goal was $15-$20 with the final tally coming in at $6-$62. I’d stick to well-known brands likely to fit me—plus experiment a tad outside of that to see what looked best—and then go from there.

So there I sat—recuperating from surgery and scrolling like a madwoman on the resale fashion sites. I bought a few simple things at first: a boatneck striped t-shirt and a fun geometric print top. Receiving them was like Christmas: I’d unwrap it, struggle into it, snap a photo and text it to Rebecca for a frank opinion.

At least one package (sometimes multiple when I’d get on a roll) would arrive every day—the hubs looked forward to the little fashion shows that would follow and gamely pulled the tops over my head when they got stuck.

I alternated gradually trying on things I already had with surfing for new-to-me options.

Not gonna lie—it was so energizing and deeply satisfying to focus on something immediate, creative and positive after nothing but cancer, cancer, cancer for months.

The woman who started looking back at me in the mirror—in truly beautiful tops in her ideal colors, fit and style—was a revelation. She is confident, wise, centered, and more herself than she’d been in years. She is strong, ready to design her joyful next chapter while refusing to be intimidated by opinions that don’t align with her worldview.

I love this woman…