I'd like to say sorry.
This could sound flippant but it's not.
Let me explain.
Anyone who has read more than one entry here knows that I love breasts. I think they are beautiful. My breasted friends, I know you are much more than your breasts but your breasts make you women.
For a long time I felt guilty about liking breasts so much. If it's possible for a man to be a feminist, I would be happy to be known as such. I've found myself in the company of women being the first to say "Men are bastards."
"How can a feminist like breasts so much?", I have often asked myself. I still don't know if I have any answer to that question.
As I have written about often here, approaching and turning 50 has brought about a huge change in the way I view breasts and the way I relate to women. I can acknowledge and be honest that I find women attractive and in particular, I have this huge attraction to breasts. Acknowledging that is incredibly liberating. I don't have to feel shame about my breast appreciation. At the same time I am not enslaved to it.
I can acknowledge in myself that this woman has nice breasts. In much the same way that I can acknowledge that she has beautiful eyes, a graceful neck or delicate fingers. (None of this is to say that any person is no more than their appearance or that, in particular, a woman is defined by her beauty.) Having acknowledged that I can move on. I can find out more about this person. Repeating earlier posts again, the first step for me was that when I found myself attracted by and noticing a woman's breasts was to immediately look at her eyes and smile. I'm not sure how many times my breasted friends noticed my initial glance but the smile has generally been returned.
This personal transition is not perfect nor is it complete. I still occasionaly find noticing of a woman's breasts threatening to become a stare. I still sometimes find myself going around the supermarket isle unecessarily just to have one more sighting. I only sort of wish I wouldn't do that.
I started off this post with wanting to say sorry.
Yes I am sorry for all those times when my noticing has turned into a stare and I have made you uncomfortable.
Sometimes your breasts affect me in ways I just don't understand and I am drawn to them. Sometimes I catch a glimpse that is full of delicate intrigue and I become overwhelmed in the moment wanting to hold on to it forever. Somewhere inside me I am dimly aware of what that means but can't be clearer than that it has to do with the power of the female archetype.
None of this is an excuse for making you uncomfortable and often perhaps feel unsafe, but I do offer it as some sort of reason.
So for all those times I am truly sorry.
Leave a comment