Fears and Worries. Silly Jiggly Joys.

I remember taking this picture almost a full year ago and thinking how huge my boobs had grown. That bra is a J cup in US sizes and the fact that I had started overflowing it was making me really nervous.

If I'd known they would more than double that size in a year I probably would've cried on the spot.

People had already started to treat me really different at this point. My best friend had begun asking me on a regular basis if they were bigger. It got to a point where every time I saw her I could feel a little tinge of anxiety in my belly because I knew I'd have to tell her

"yes, they're still growing, and yes theyre bigger right now."

One of my patrons asked me about a week ago if I would write about my biggest fears surrounding my breasts growth. I've talked to a few of you in messages on here, and a common question is

"how do you feel about your boobs?"

I feel like I'm still pretty split on this. Good and bad. Half the time I'm actually in awe, just totally shocked. Surprised, looking down, these are mine. Staring down and seeing all this jiggly meat... that's... actually me. When they move I can feel them, and recently they've been super sore and tender from the continued growth, but it's still very easy for me to kinda dissociate from them and not see them as me, or part of me. To see them as two selfish blobs, that take and take. In my more positive moments, on the good boob days, I couldn't even imagine this perspective, but, on the bad boob days... I looked down at them and just pray that they'll stop growing.

Pray that ill feel better about it all soon.

On my good boob days I'm actually so happy. I find my hands barely leave them all day, absent-mindedly jiggling and massaging them. They make me feel confident and posting online is a joy.

"Look at how special they are, look how special I am because of them!" My head seems to spout all day long. It's a little corny how good I feel about them on these days.

It's a weird dichotomy because, it's almost like two different parts of my brain that can't understand each other.

For instance, today I'm having a very good boob day. They weren't so sore last night that I lost sleep, and they're feeling very tender and sensitive in a good way. On days like this I bask in the sensations they bring my brain. An oxytocin waterfall pouring peace and calm over me everytime I squish and squeeze them, which ends up being large portions of the day.

It's days like these that I end up letting my curiosity about natural breast growth techniques bring me on internet journeys I would never think of on bad boob days.

I will say that I may be on the spectrum for how obsessive my thinking can get. Occasionally. I have stimulus overload and feel like I need to retreat a bit. My pair of noise canceling headphones gets pretty constant use.

One of the ways I found I can stim may be amusing to y'all. A way i tend to dissociate into my chest.

I plop my boobs on the kitchen table or my desk, which is a great height to take their weight off my back. Then I lower my head into them face first. They are so soft and fat, my face feels cradled by a big warm pillow. I feel very safe like this. The weight of my breasts supported by the table, the weight of my head supported by my breasts.

 It's a little embarrassing though. As I breathe into them, there's no room for the air escape except through my cleavage and across my face. My chubby boobs are so soft now that the air bubbles make little slapping noises against my face and make little jiggling waves across the softer top side of my boobies. The louder more obnoxious noises come from air escaping the bottom, where my heavy breasts slap against the table loudly.

It's an embarrassing new talent I have that won't be making it's debut at any parties any time soon. It makes me feel overly vulnerable. Even writing about it here is making me blush, but, who else would I tell? Where else would I talk about it? These are the kind of odd things that macromastia brings that I don't hear any other girls on Instagram talk about. Lol.

My partner calls them my boob farts, which I find to be an unpleasant, if kinda accurate name. I prefer boob raspberries, but a couple times a week I end up doing this since it feels nice, and I think weirdly, it makes me feel naughty. Like, not only should I not be making these odd sounds with my breasts, but the fact that they've even grown big enough that it's possible is absurd and shouldn't be.

Boobs are supposed to be for cute, cleavage and bikinis, not covering your entire face in and making obnoxious noises your partner can hear from two rooms away 🫣, but this is one of the predicaments I find myself in. Dissociating into my breasts 😐

So how do I feel about my boobs? Kinda love hate relationship so far? This is probably the kind of journal entry I could update endlessly, and might.

Thx for reading. Love y'all 🙈