Oh, lord, my tits showed up early and boisterously in middle school. My mother made a great worried fuss over this, which did nothing for my comfort about them. Smocks were in fashion, so she made me wear those, and she sewed closed the button-down section at the bustline to prevent gapping. Clothes my size were not sized for my "attributes". Instead of downplaying things, these adjustments were commented on. "Are you pregnant? You're dressed like you're pregnant." My mother monitored my clothing as long as she could to downplay what was going on. When I hit college and finally realized that my bustline wasn't something to be ashamed of, I bought a wonderful black velour sweater that actually fit and had a V neckline. Mother nearly broke into tears and asked why I'd want to wear something like that. (In her defense, her father was an abusive alcholic who accused her of some very nasty things--and that's what she'd admit to. I don't want to think of what else happened, but her mother left him back in the Depression.)

I shall not go into the numerous incidents of lewd commentary as I walked around in the world. I suspect it's one reason I let myself get fat, so the difference in measurements went away.

Sophia, 36 26 38 in high school. I didn't dress to hide myself. I'm sure no one would believe I wasn't aware. My mom either made or bought everything I wore. I'm sure she was aware. I never even thought about that until just now. My mom desperately wanted male attention, and I guess she was projecting.

Connie, it isn't the reason I got fat, but I have often suspected it's one reason why I've never been able to lose the weight.

I should clarify. My mom never bought me sexy or revealing clothes, she would never have let me wear that. But all my tops were either stretchy cotton t-shirts or blouses that fit closely. She would always say, if you've got it use it, and I knew what she meant but it seemed innocent I guess. I don't know. It's hard to remember what it felt like to be that naive.

My mom desperately wanted male attention, and I guess she was projecting.

My mom was overly invested in my ability to get and fuck guys. Not in high school, though if I *had* been sexually active in high school, I think she would have high-fived me. But from college on -- yes. I dumped one guy in college because I didn't want to sleep with him, and he kept pushing me for it, so that clearly wasn't going to work out for either of us. My mom was *appalled* when I told her why I dumped him. "Why wouldn't you just have sex with him?!?!? What were you THINKING?!?!?!?" (She is THE WORST.) (Though my dad isn't any better, because about 15 years ago -- when I was at least 40 pounds lighter than I am now -- he told me I needed to lose weight "Because men don't want to sleep with heavy women." Yes, I was in my 30s and my own goddamn father told me I wasn't fuckable.)

That should explain a lot of why I'm in therapy.

I was wearing a C cup in fifth grade, when I was 4'7". That was ... ugh.

and then I just...forget about them. Because they're classed in my mind as just part of the experience of being female.

That's the wrenchingly awful part. I've been thinking about my past, and realized that every romantic relationship I was ever in, with the exception of Mr. Loomy THANK G-D, involved coercion, ignoring when I said "I don't want to", and taking advantage of times when I couldn't consent. None of those are an "or"; all of them were regular features of all of those relationships. And I didn't realize those things weren't okay! I thought they came with the territory of dating someone, and that having regular sex with someone didn't mean I was obligated to have sex with them whenever and wherever they wanted.

And that doesn't cover the leering, inappropriate comments, and groping I put up with from about age 10 on.

Oh Hil, that is just horrible. It makes it all the more impressive and remarkable that you achieved the level of academic success you have. Yellow bellied me probably would have quit school and never entered a school building again.

Academically, I did terribly in high school. I got into college entirely on my test scores. Getting away from that environment, and meeting entirely new people, helped a lot.

My parents (well, mostly my mother) sometimes discussed switching me to a private school -- probably the local Jewish school (where, if I had gone, I would have been a classmate of Jared Kushner.) If I'd pushed for it, they probably would have transferred me there, but I wasn't really confident that it would be any different.

And thank you, everybody. I was kind of freaking out last night. Getting triggered sucks.

And I'm not talking about this at all on Facebook, because whenever I mention it, my mom calls me, crying, to tell me how sorry she is that she didn't help me more or do something, and then I have to comfort her, and I'm just not up for that right now.

Hil, ugh. It's exhausting to have to comfort someone who's distraught that you're upset. My family is like that too. Either they minimize my experiences or they get me to do it to make them feel better.

There's so much more to all this than the rage and sorrow at the sexist mistreatment. Anger at how others responded to it, despair at being emotionally abandoned, grief over what could have been in a world that worked differently. Who would I have been if.