The other day I stood in front of the mirror contemplating my choice of clothing attire. I was wearing the absolutely most beautiful top. It was embroidered, flowing, and had a very happy, boho vibe about it. But then there was the neckline to consider. I had bought the blouse a year ago, and I had yet to wear it. I didn’t try it on at the time, so I didn’t realize until I got it home just how plunging it was. I didn’t return it because it was so beautiful that I did want to wear it, but something in me wouldn’t allow it. I had tried to give it one last chance, but I just couldn’t take the plunge, so to speak.
I knew age and having three children had changed a lot about my body image and how I viewed myself, but to be quite honest I still could rock a cleavage if need be. The shirt didn’t look bad in an “I’m almost 40, I can’t wear that” kinda way. It looked bad in an “I’m a child of God, I shouldn’t wear that” kinda way.
When I looked in the mirror at myself I had to be honest. It’s wasn’t the beautiful, yellow embroidered flower at my breastbone that drew attention. It was my breasts. I even asked my six-year-old, “What do you think of this shirt?”
She giggled, “It looks funny cause your boobies are showing!”
I took the shirt off and went with something else. Later that night my 14-year-old stepdaughter came over to our house, and the sight of her bottom butt cheeks peeking from her shorts made me realize that I needed to pass along what I had learned. The thing is I didn’t learn it until I was in my 30s, but for my daughters I wanted them to realize it much, much sooner. I wanted them to know why I chose not to wear the top with the plunging neckline.
