How I Realized That I’d Grown Up To Become A Woman

Growing up in adolescence also means coming to terms with one’s changing body. A funny story.

Growing up in adolescence also means coming to terms with one’s changing body. A funny story.

Lingerie stories from one’s adolescence are always awkward and often embarrassing! Despite your mom and granny having lectured you enough, your puberty cannot go by without at least one such horror story.

When we were kids, most of us wanted to look like the top actresses, who were not just pretty but had the perfect figure and managed to look sexy in every outfit. At age 11-12, some of my friends started developing. They were getting teased pretty badly by the boys. I decided that my mosquito bites were okay!

When puberty hit me, I tried my best to hide away from my mother so that she could not force me to go on a shopping spree to buy just one inner garment. I found it so awkward to go ask the shopkeeper for a bra. And in adolescence, you develop gradually and thus, you are never sure of your size.

Before somebody else pointed at me, I decided to measure it myself. This was when I realized my old inner garments stopped making me feel comfortable and my chest popped out like a totally different creature. It not just made me feel awkward, but it was highly uncomfortable.

Though I kept hiding this from my mom, she figured it out in no time and pulled me to a departmental store. It was so embarrassing. Given a chance, I would have run away, with my hands up in the air, shouting ‘I can’t do this!’

Well, I have to tell you that this store was probably the sixth store we walked into. I told my mom that it was not the right time because I failed to find even one bra that fit perfectly. But she never stopped to listen. You know how moms are, right?

Enter the sixth store, which undoubtedly looked the same like other stores and probably also had the same unfit bras. I wondered why they had so many shops when all of them sold the same useless bras.

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As I snooped around looking at all the bras, a salesperson came over and offered to help me find a fit. I was expecting this; however, the idea of a stranger measuring my chest made me cringe although I was not sure of my size and the type I wanted.

My mom, like always, insisted on letting the salesperson help me with it. As she walked towards me, I freaked out and pulled the bra from her. Never in my life had I felt more awkward!

I ran into the trial room to try it and experience my bra moment in peace, all by myself. I was a lazy head and took as much time as possible to try it on. Meanwhile, my mom started throwing a few more types into the trial room. I told her not to do that. She was quite loud when she explained to me the different between each type that was displayed there.

The size she gave me did not fit me right. I felt like my size changed on a daily basis. What could I do about it anyway? Buy a bra every day? Duh!

The salesperson then arrived and asked me if I was sure about the size. She was a very nice lady and helped me select several pretty bras. They looked good but never fit me. My mom showed me ones with weird designs and I hated each one of them. Finally, to get away from this awkward shopping experience, I chose two of the many I tried.

I felt like I was not human and my size would never exist in any store in this huge world. I wanted to ask my fellow customers if had they felt the same in their teenage years. Of course I didn’t. I was never that bold, least of all for such purposes.

We were finally done with all the shopping. Every time I tried them at home, I had two completely different opinions in one brain. I wanted to tear them apart for never making me feel comfortable. They never fit me perfectly. Either it was too loose or so tight that it left marks on my shoulders. Perfect cups but small wings; the totally useless strapless bra and not to forget, the grandma design.

On the other hand, I was proud of owning them. I posed in the mirror. I twirled. I gazed at myself. I realized that I was no longer a young girl. I was a woman.


About the Author

Harini Prasad

19 // Mass Communications from Hyderabad // Aspiring journalist // Food and fashion lover read more...

23 Posts | 143,838 Views

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