Fuck Symmetry.

In my long and illustrious history of being self-conscious about any number of things, there's one that's been creeping up on me the more time goes by. 

Don't get me wrong. I know there is literally no such thing as a perfect body. Body positivity campaigns the world over rightfully tell us to be proud of the skin we're in, and we all should be, dammit. It's just a little hard to do sometimes when Hollywood tells us that the truly virtuous among us have a little thing called "symmetry." Give "facial symmetry" a Google sometime and scroll through the images section, and you'll discover that actors and actresses are more likely to have symmetrical faces, while the normal schmoes like you and I are a little more... lopsided. 

I think this is a good thing. Asymmetry gives character. My right eye, for instance, is lower than my left. My nose levels out a little lower on my right hand side. In conducting research for this essay, a close examination in the mirror determined that my right ear is a little lower than my left. I think differences like this are pretty cool. They make us unique, and that's a good thing. 

Same goes for a more purely female perspective. With the exception of one out of every jillion, I highly doubt that you're going to find a pair of boobs that are perfectly symmetrical. One of them might be a little saggier than the other, or the nipple might poke in a weird direction. Or, plainly, one of them is just bigger. 

So, keeping up with the trend of my right side just being lower overall than my left... well, just look at the picture. They're a little smushed, but you kind of get a general idea. And that's the way it's been for a long time — my right boob has always out-paced my left. If, before I grew, my right one was bigger, it wasn't really noticeable (not in a way that affected how I shop for bras, and stuff like that). But now? Yeah. There's a difference. 

I don't think my right boob is still growing or anything terrifying like that. But the more time that goes by since my most recent (and still, hopefully, last) spirt, my skin is getting used to the situation, and my boobs are "settling." I'm not entirely sure how that bodes for later in life — there is a non-zero chance that I'll be some batty old cat lady with tits that hang down to her knees — but for the time being, I'm making do.

After all, I'm not naive. When attention is inevitably drawn to my chest, the first thought is usually something more akin to "Damn, they're big," and not so much to "Damn, her right one is bigger." And bras and usual day-to-day wear balance out the difference. 

It's just... I don't know. It's just that, as more time passes, I'm internally less self-conscious about the sheer size of the girls, and am transferring that angst to the fact that they're lopsided. I guess that's a good thing? That the overall craziness that is my body isn't really the point of attention for me anymore, and instead, that it's something that falls more into the column of "cosmetic thing that really only I notice." 

Actually, to be honest, it does help to put that down on paper. I think we all have a tendency to go a little hard on ourselves sometimes, and when you kinda verbalize it, you realize how silly it actually sounds, and that you're wasting all this psychic energy nitpicking when things could be way worse. It's human nature to be self-critical, which I'm sure has some kind of evolutionary root. Weird, huh?

So, that's on my list of goals: to get myself to a place where I'm not so skeevish over the fact that one of my boobs is gigantic-er than the other one. It's an odd item on a list of goals, but there's a moral in there somewhere. 

And that moral is "Fuck Symmetry." Love yourself, dear reader. As Mr. Rogers always said, "You're perfect just the way you are, so roll with that shit."