5 Things No One Told Me About Growing Up As A Woman

I don’t know about you but the past ten or so years of my life have been a lesson in how to be female. I’ve had to learn everything about my own body, what certain parts of it are for, how they work, why they do weird stuff sometimes and what I have to do to make sure I keep it in tip top shape.

But aside from a few teenage magazines and a self-help book for teenage girls that didn’t have enough about how to ‘do sex’ in it for my fifteen year old self, I was left pretty clueless. Of course I could have asked my mum who was always on hand to explain everything and anything without embarrassment. But ewww, who wants to talk to their mum about pubes and stuff?!

So here are my top five tips compiled from my own failings as a teenage girl/young woman in the hope that they might help you!

 Shave your legs in the direction of hair growth

*small clap* yes, it might be obvious, I know. But for teenage me when faced with the prospect of shaving my legs, I went a bit off-piste. Instead of doing it gradually and in some sort of order, I just started shaving the hair off in all different directions. Thankfully my shins were shaved in the right direction but my calves are a whole other story. I shaved them SIDEWAYS. Yes, sideways. WTF WAS I THINKING. So now all the hair on the backs of my legs grows sideways.

Fucking brilliant. So, don’t do this if you’re new to shaving. Just take your time and be sensible!

Don’t shave your pubes I’M WARNING YOU.

NO. DO NOT GO NEAR THEM WITH A RAZOR FOR GODS SAKE.  I used to shave ALL of my pubes off with a razor and, well, there’s never been pain/discomfort/ingrown hairs like it. One of my teenage boyfriends used to love it being completely bare. THANKS PORN. So I would routinely shave it all off only to have to endure the pain of it growing back and a few nicks on the ol’ labia every now and then. WHY DO WE DO THIS TO OURSELVES?! As I’ve got older I’ve realised that actually I think pubic hair is sexy. It denotes adulthood and stops you looking like a pre-pubescent teen. I mean, tidy it up all you want, get an electric shaver and go to town on that ol’ bush but don’t use a razor and then cry cos it’s shit. Make sure you use the right sort of tools for the job and, never ever ever ever ever shave your pubes for a man. THEY’RE NOT WORTH IT. A man should love you pubes or no pubes and should never pressure you into getting rid of them. (Plus pubes are there for a reason! But if you like the bare look then you rock it gurl.)

Your boobs will never ever look the same

Another thank you must go to porn and lads mags and allllll those pictures of women with perfectly symmetrical breasts and pert nipples. LOL. That is not real. I imagine 99% of those women have had boob jobs cos gurl, your boobs are never gon be the same. I have one bigger than the other and that’s normal and it’s more than natural. Don’t be made to feel inadequate because you are plagued with images of tanned, perky boobs. Your boobs are unique to you and they’re all the more amazing for it. (Also let’s just remember boobs are actually for feeding a baby, not for men to perve over but, well, life.)

Good luck with your periods

Basically you’re screwed. I’m 22 and I still have trouble dealing with the waterfall that escapes me every month.  If I can go through a period without staining a) my pants b) my clothes and c) my bedsheets then I feel like I’ve won the fucking lottery. I don’t know if it’s just a thing I’m bad at? Or if it’s a universal woman thing but seriously, I still can’t deal with my periods without some sort of disaster each month. I mean it probably doesn’t help I was on and then off and then on again and then off again the contraceptive pill but my body still isn’t great at the whole bleedin’ with grace and dignity thing. And, if you are a woman whose got her shit together and can do periods then I BOW TO YOU, YOU GODDESS.

Wash your face

I sound like your mother. But seriously, wash your face. This is gross to admit and I actually hate myself for it but I only really started properly washing my face in the past year or so. Before I used to just rub a wet flannel over my cheeks quickly and be like ‘yep, done it’ when in fact that was a shit excuse for washing my face. Now I use proper face wash, scrubs, face masks, toners, moisturisers etc. My skin still isn’t amazing as I wish it was but oh god I don’t even want to imagine not washing my face now. It makes me feel so physically uncomfortable if I don’t wash my face morning and night!! Keep your face squeaky clean and you'll have fewer spots, fewer blocked pores and you'll look even more gorgeous than normal! 

I mean, I hope some of that is helpful and I’ve not just shamed myself on the internet (probs have) but I really hope that it will help girls and women to know that we all struggle a bit sometimes with the whole ‘being a woman’ thing so don’t feel like you’re the only one who can’t do it all perfectly!  

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Damp Patch

Today I want to talk about something that I don’t think gets talked about enough: vaginal discharge.

I can remember the very first time I found out about it. I was about ten or eleven and I woke up one morning with soaking wet pyjama shorts. I was so embarrassed and I thought I’d wet myself so I wrote a note to my mum (I used to do this all the time as I was too ashamed to say things out loud) and told her that I thought I’d wet myself yet it didn’t smell or look like urine; it was almost like I’d spilt a whole bottle of water in my lap.

My mum was really great and told me all about vaginal discharge and so I felt a lot more confident that what had happened was normal and completely fine. I sort of just didn’t really think about it anymore for a while; I used pantliners to stop my underwear getting damp (it’s a personal choice as I know some women don’t like using them but I find they help me to feel fresh and comfortable throughout the day) until one day in the playground I started to feel like I should be ashamed of it. A group of friends were sitting cross legged on the grass, some of the girls were wearing skirts, and one of the boys pointed out that one of the girls had a wet patch on her knickers. The rest of the boys made comments about how gross it was etc and suddenly there was yet another thing I needed to be ashamed of.

And I don’t think any woman should be ashamed of it. It’s normal, it’s natural, it’s healthy. Obviously it must be mentioned here that any abnormal discharge or smelly discharge could be down to an infection so it’s always worth getting things checked out if you’re not sure it’s normal. But vaginal discharge can vary in colour depending on your time in the month; it can vary in thickness, in quantity and also in appearance.  Some women just naturally have more than others and it can also vary if, for example, you’re on a contraceptive pill.

I’ve had friends in the past who were ashamed to buy a packet of pantliners in the supermarket or feel the need to hide their sanitary products out of sight. COME ON GIRLS, don’t feel ashamed.

I used to be so shy, especially around boyfriends about my vagina being fucking awesome and cleaning itself. (YAY FOR AWESOME VAGINAS) I would never let them see my underwear if I had a pantliner on and I would try and hide them in my toiletry bag. Now, however my boyfriend is pretty much immune to everything that happens down there! I had a box of pantliners on his chest of drawers when I stayed there often, I would stick them on my knickers in front of him and to be honest, it doesn’t really seem to bother him anymore. And I think he rocks for not caring.

Too often women are made to feel embarrassed or ashamed about normal and natural bodily functions. We’re told talking about periods is gross or that anything coming out of our vagina that isn’t related to how turned on we are is horrid. But I’m proud of my body and proud of my self-cleaning vagina. And so should you!! 

Have you ever been made to feel like you should be ashamed of vaginal discharge? Have you ever had an unfortunate incident....? 

I once went to the beach wearing a pantliner and did all the frolicking in the sea and had a whale of a time. I didn't wear a swimsuit or bikini as I hated my body but I still went in the sea with some fast drying clothes on! I must have been about 14 at the time. 

I was walking back home with a male friend from the beach when I felt something fall out of the bottom of my trousers. When I turned around to look MY GODDAMN PANTLINER WAS IN THE ROAD. Clearly the sea water affected the stickiness of the pantliner and it was no longer stuck to my underwear!! 

I was so embarrassed so just styled it out and pretended nothing had fallen out of my trouser leg...and I walked away and left it there. OH THE SHAME...
I learnt my lesson...never wear them when you're going in water!!! 

Now I've shared my embarrassing story, it's only fair you share yours!! 

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Growing Up With Small Boobs

It was during the last World Cup. I was down my local pub, watching an England match. A shot of the fans came up on the screen, focusing on a woman. When she realised she was on TV, she raised her arms and cheered on her team. Someone in the pub shouted, "You must be great at giving head, because no-one is going to want you with a rack like that!" Then I noticed that the woman had small boobs, and I was filled with anger and disgust, but not shock. This is the way of the world. Men don't like women with small boobs; women like me.

This is something I have grown up believing to be true. On TV, in movies, at school, at uni, down the pub, even walking in the street, I have heard men talk about women with big boobs, like Jess has discussed previously. Before feminism came into my life, I didn't like what I heard, but that kind of sexism was just something that happened. I was resigned to the fact that this is how men talk about women, and they only talk that way about women with big boobs. This led to two things; 1) Me hoping I never end up with big boobs (bigger maybe, but not big) because I never wanted anyone to talk to/about me like that, and 2) The idea I wasn't attractive because I didn't have big boobs.

This wasn't just because of the way I heard men talk, but also because of how I was treated - or rather, not treated. I have small boobs, and this means I am mostly invisible. On the odd occasion, mostly during Summer, I will notice the odd random guy checking me out, but normally, nothing. Being ogled, for the most part, is something I've not had to worry about, because I'm not noticed. This could be down to one or a combination of three things; I'm ginger, and there are those who find redheads unattractive, I have a very young face and look a lot younger than I am, and I have small boobs - which might contribute to others' impressions that I'm still a teenager. But while I was a teenager, I was sure it was because of my boobs. Someone I know even said to me once, while drunk, "You're going to have to accept than no bloke is going to fancy you because you have small boobs." When I brought it up since, he doesn't remember saying it, apologised profusely, and swore it's not what he actually believes. But at the time, it was really hurtful. But not anything I hadn't already  deduced for myself.

For a really long time, I was so self-conscious about my boobs, I would try not to draw attention to them, thinking people might notice and think, "Hey, she has boobs, but they're so small!" I remember when my mum first bought me a training bra when I was around 12 or 13. I had just started budding, and so it was time to start wearing bras, I was told. I hated it. I loathed it. I wanted to stay in my vests. Wearing a training bra would only mean that, in the PE changing room, the girls would notice how I had nothing to put in this bra I was wearing, while all their bras were being put to use. I've since learnt from my mum that she bought me a training bra because she was worried I might be teased for wearing a vest. Vests might be for little girls, but I didn't need a bra, and I was so conscious of the fact everyone would be laughing at me.

As I got older, once my boobs had grown, as I said, I'd try not to draw attention to them. I wouldn't wear anything remotely low cut. The little cleavage I have was never on show. I would only wear padded bras if the top I was wearing required it - if it didn't lay right without a little help - because I was worried people would notice my boobs suddenly looked bigger, and would know. I didn't have many tops that needed extra padding for this reason, but finding pretty tops and dresses that weren't made for a larger bust was really difficult. They would just hang wrong and gape, and I would leave shops feeling awful, my small boobs stopping me from wearing nice clothes. Not good enough. And it was because I wasn't good enough that no guys noticed me, that no guys fancied me.

However, once I hit my twenties, I stopped worrying quite so much. My boobs had finished growing, and filled tops a little better. I started to feel more comfortable in my body in general, really liking how I looked. I would buy and wear clothes I felt good in, and some of these clothes were lower cut than I was used to. I felt good in them! I felt more like a woman, and I thought my boobs looked good. And if guys weren't looking anyway, why bother trying to cover up so much? Low or not, they weren't going to notice. So I wore what I felt good in.

Cait Lomas wrote a guest post for Safe Space a few weeks ago about Going Braless, and the idea terrified me. Even though I originally hated having to wear a bra, soon after, I wouldn't be seen in public without one. At all. Ever. Let's face it, as a size 30B, I don't actually need a bra - my boobs aren't big enough to need supporting, nor do they give me backache. I don't need a bra. But I was worried that without a bra the clothes I wore were wither too loose, and so I wouldn't look like I had any boobs at all, or too tight, and would squish what I had into nothingness. I was scared because I thought I wouldn't feel like a woman; I wouldn't look like a woman. I was really inspired by Cait though, and I considered it.

A little before Cait's post went live, I bought a dress with a cutout on the back. Even wearing my transparent-back bra, it looked ridiculous. This dress requited me to go braless, but I couldn't do that! Then I saw Cait's post, and it really got me thinking. Could I? Should I? I bought an adhesive bra and some nipple covers to wear with this dress, see which I prefered, and last week, I gave them a go. The adhesive bra fell off in seconds. Nervously, I tried the nipple covers, put on my dress, and looked in the mirror. And I didn't look awful! My boobs were there - small, but there! And it was such a relief. I didn't have to worry about my strapless bra falling, I didn't have to worry about my bra straps feeling uncomfortable. I felt free, and strangely confident, like I was finally accepting my boobs, saying, "They're small, but that's ok!" It was strange how quickly I forgot I wasn't wearing a bra, how I wasn't feeling self-conscious, how I just got on with my day, leaving the house without a thought. It was wonderful! And though I do still wear a bra, I no longer worry about not wearing a bra when I choose not to.

Also, as the years have gone on, I've learnt that having small boobs doesn't make me unattractive. Sure, my small boobs might mean I'm not noticed by those men who talk about women with big boobs, but do I really want to be noticed by those men? No, I absolutely do not. The ones that have noticed me? The size of my boobs doesn't matter. They don't fancy me because I have small boobs, they fancy me because of the whole package that is me: how I look and who I am.

Having small boobs is no longer something I worry about, or even think about. I'm happy with my boobs, with my body, with how I look, and I don't really care what anyone else thinks.



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Growing Up With Big Boobs

For most of my life I’ve had big boobs. In my experience that phrase strikes envy into the hearts of women far and wide. Having a fuller bust is something that is praised and celebrated in our society and means that you’re one step closer to that “perfect body” that we see splattered across television screens, magazines and posters everywhere.

But in my experience having big boobs has been far from ideal.

I was an early developer. My boobs appeared literally over night when I was ten years old and I hated them with a passion. I hated the feeling of having to wear a bra, I hated that I still had to get undressed for PE lessons in front of the boys in my class, and I hated how these two bumps on my chest suddenly made me stand out amongst my peers.

One of my earliest negative experiences with my boobs is from one lunch time, back when I was in junior school. My “friends” wouldn’t talk to me and had spent our entire lunch break whispering behind my back. I was so upset and didn’t know what I’d done wrong. I ran to the girls toilets in floods of tears only for a girl I barely knew from the year below me to ask if it was true that I stuffed my bra to get boys to notice me? Because that was the rumour that a girl I considered a friend had started about me that lunch time.

I remember sitting in the bath that night wishing as hard as I could that these things would go away so that I could have my friends back, so people would stop talking about them, so I could be a kid again. I was so upset and disgusted by my body that I faked sick for the rest of the week so I wouldn’t have to go into school.

The first time I remember being street harassed was when I was walking down the road to my friend’s house. I must have been around twelve years old. It was summer, I had on a tank top, and I was making the short walk over to the next street from my house when a group of middle-aged men in a work van slowed down and shouted “Show us your tits, love! Go on! Get them out!” I was twelve years old and I was terrified. I crossed my arms over my chest and ran the rest of the way to my friend’s house with them following along honking the van horn and laughing. Sadly, this would be the first of many incidents throughout my life where men would feel that it was okay to comment on my boobs in public.  

Things only got worse when I went to secondary school. By then I was a thirteen year old girl with a C cup chest - mix that in with a school full of horny teenage boys and well, let’s just say that it was like a lamb walking into a field full of lions.

New rumours flew around that I was a slut and that I’d let boys touch my chest. Boys would reach out and try and grope at them in school corridors. I got asked out a lot by older boys who thought that me having big boobs automatically meant that I was up for sex, and that because we were going out that they had a right to it.

Occasionally, if one of the PE teachers was off sick, the girls and boys would have to do PE together. One time I remember a particularly excruciating hour of trampolining - let me tell you that was a show and a half for the boys in my year group and something that makes me wince even when I think back on it today.

For the longest time I hated my boobs. They didn’t feel like mine but something that belonged to other people and something people could judge me on. It felt like everybody had something to say about my body and my sexuality in relation to my chest size. As a shy, awkward, teenager, I had far more questions asked about my boobs than I was comfortable with and experienced things like people asking if they’re real, boys only being interested in one thing, and street harassment on a daily basis.

I finished school as a D cup and now as an F cup still experience these things from time to time. It certainly helps that I’m not in a testosterone filled high school environment anymore. As an adult woman my problems now usually involve back pain and trying to find a store that carries my bra size.

Having a large chest can be such a coveted thing for women, but for me personally it’s something that I’ve always struggled with. I’d love to be able to say to you that this is all a thing of the past and that I now love my boobs but although I’ve gotten better I’m still not there yet, but I’m working on it.

Having big boobs can be far from ideal. They can draw unwanted attention, cause physical problems from the weight and are often used as a comical talking point. I hope I’ve shed some light on that by sharing my experiences of growing up with big boobs today.

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