Dear boobs
Facing a mastectomy, a Tauranga mother wrote a letter to her boobs. She tells Monique Balvert-O’Connor how asking other women to write to their “wobbly womanly” parts resulted in a wise and witty collection that’s now published in a book.
“Dear Boobs, you covered my heart space and that is no coincidence,” reads part of a poignant letter written by Emily Searle, shortly before having a double mastectomy.
That letter, written by the 39-yearold Tauranga cancer survivor, was the catalyst for her intriguing book project. The book, called Dear Boobs, features the letters of 100 women writing to their “wobbly womanly body parts”.
In 2016 Emily underwent 14 rounds of chemotherapy, a bilateral mastectomy with node clearance, breast reconstruction, five weeks of radiation, and ongoing hormone treatment. Then, in 2017, the day after her final radiation dose, she launched The Dear Boobs Project.
Emily’s project was all about collecting “intimate, courageous and sometimes hilarious” letters from women affected by breast cancer, who have undergone surgery. She launched the project via Facebook in June 2017 and rapidly received letters from women in predominantly New Zealand, but also from the US, Canada, UK, Spain and Australia. In just over 100 days she had 100 letters.
Emily says her cancer journey involved a community of supporters and she wanted to offer something of value in return. She was also driven by a desire to encourage and inspire those women just beginning “the overwhelming passage”.
“Really, I wanted to shout from the rooftops, ‘Boob wisdom, shared, really can make a difference!’ In the absence of an accessible rooftop and a decent-sized audience, I decided to create this book.”
Emily says the women who have embraced the Dear Boobs Project are from all walks of life. Aged between 24 and 71, they penned letters ranging from a five-line poem to a three-page, in-depth consultation with their boobs.
Each letter, like each woman’s experience, is unique. Not one experience is the same or any less valid than the other, Emily says. They include letters to the original boobs, the new boobs, the replacement “foobs” (fake boobs) and the ones that, due to BRCA (breast cancer susceptibility gene), may be removed one day for preventative reasons.
“The letters may make you laugh, perhaps cry, maybe gasp, and most definitely will compel you to take a deep breath of life,” Emily says.
The book was launched on thedearboobsproject.com, but as well as that, 1000 copies were given to waiting rooms at breast screening centres, doctors’ surgeries, medical centres… you get the drill. Emily says she wanted the book to be a muchneeded point of difference to the material normally available. “There were so many waiting rooms, and so little information about what actual women feel about all these decisions. You’re bombarded with medical advice and you’re weighing up all these decisions, but rarely do you get any feeling of the emotions behind these choices. I knew that so many women were in waiting rooms, just like I was, so that was my impetus in sharing it.”
The intention behind the book is that the letters will benefit not only women with cancer themselves, but also their carers and supporters.
“I expect affected women reading the book will laugh, perhaps cry, but mostly grasp their own experience better, and ultimately feel the hope and healing power of being part of a sisterhood that understands just how it is,” Emily says. As for their carers and supporters, Emily hopes the book will offer a unique insight into the hard decisions, the emotional complexity involved in letting go of a body part or two, and the sometimes-long road to a “new normal”.
Letter writing – or narrative therapy – has been cathartic for Emily who is mother to Matilda, nine, and Stanley, six, and wife to Tim. She firmly believes it can empower people to reflect and acknowledge – in this case, it can help women progress with healing and the acceptance of their post-surgical chest.
Both Emily’s old and new boobs have received letters – she found the writing added another layer of healing. “I wrote to my boobs because I couldn’t always hear what I was thinking, until I read what I had written.
“On the better days, I would write to myself: ‘Dear Emily on a bad day’ and reassure myself there was light and hope to come. On the bad days, I would write to myself and to my cancer to ask for help, healing, ease for my symptoms.”
The following excerpt is from one of her letters to her old boobs:
“Thank you for being the ‘front of house’ in a way to represent my →
“I wanted to shout from the rooftops, ‘Boob wisdom, shared, really can make a difference!’”
femininity, and for shaping my clothes; my school ball gowns, my bikinis, my wedding dress… and wow, your work was only just beginning. My thank you can be no greater than the gratitude I have to you for nurturing and nourishing my two children. I see the incredible results of this Every. Single. Day.
“So, as we share our final weeks, you have already dealt with the toxic chemical aimed at you and next will be the scalpel, please know that the time we have had together has been perfect. It has been exactly how it should have been. You raised my children with me and you guided me to learn about myself without me even realising it.
You covered my heart space and that is no coincidence. Dear Boobs, our time has come to be parted, it is the right time, it will be forever, but I will never forget.”
Emily’s cancer journey didn’t end with her boobs. During her breast cancer treatment, she discovered she was a carrier of a BRCA2 genetic mutation. This means she has a significantly greater chance of developing not only breast, but also ovarian cancer at a young age. She made the decision to have ovarian surgery in early 2018.
This year, in contrast, has been about taking time to rest and recover after such an intense ride. “For many women I’ve spoken to, the hardest part was after treatment,” Emily says. “I take care of my mental health daily; I get out in nature, I run, I also try and apply meditation and mindfulness every day.”
Mostly, she says, she avoids falling back into “the busy trap”. “It did take a crisis for me to find that reflection, to take that time, to see clearly about mortality and what that really means.”
This October, Emily turns 40. It’s something she feels very joyful about, because when she was diagnosed it seemed a very real possibility she might not make it. “That was the reality I had to grapple with,” she says. “So the fact that I am still here, that I get to turn 40 and see all of those milestones... it just feels like a huge celebration.”