Won’t hide hairy boobs!
Stare akk you want, I'm fed up of hiding
Sitting on the school bus, I pulled out my book to read.
Suddenly I heard giggling behind me. A boy at the back of the bus was pointing at me, laughing.
‘You’ve got a moustache!’ he shouted.
It was July 2004 and I was just 14.
My face burned as all the other kids turned to look at me.
Burying my head between the pages, I tried to ignore them. But I felt like a freak. When I got home that night, I couldn’t get the boy’s words out my head.
Looking in the mirror, I realised I had a bit of dark hair growing on my lip.
I’d never really thought about it before.
Always assumed it was normal. But now I felt self-conscious. Heading straight to see my aunt, Rebecca – a beautician – I begged her to get rid of it.
‘Please wax my lip!’ I pleaded.
Seeing my distress, she agreed.
After the hair was gone, I felt relief.
But, it soon grew back – with a vengeance.
And I started to notice more hair on different parts of my body too.
Within a year, I’d grown chest hair.
Long and thick, like a man’s.
My lower back was covered too.
What’s wrong with me? I worried.
But no-one could give me any answers.
And other disturbing new symptoms soon appeared.
My periods were increasingly irregular, and I was in agony with stomach pains almost every day.
A few weeks after my 16th birthday, the pain became unbearable.
‘I can’t even stand up!’ I wept to my mum, Diana, then 45.
She rushed me to A&E, where doctors sent me for an ultrasound scan.
‘I’m afraid you’ve got polycystic ovary syndrome,’ a consultant said. I was devastated. I’d been googling my symptoms for months, and already knew that PCOS had no cure.
‘So this is it?’ I asked tearfully. ‘For the rest of my life?’
Doctors gave me medication to help slow the hair growth and manage the pain, but it wasn’t much use.
Desperate, I started shaving my entire body, but it would take hours.
Unable to reach my back, I’d wear T-shirts to cover it. But I wore holes in them from constantly pulling them down to cover myself.
At 18, my selfconfidence hit an all-time low.
I was exhausted, getting up at 4am every morning just to shave all over.
Summer was hell.
I’d keep as much of f my body covered as possible, never wore a swimming g costume.
Every day was a struggle.
I was anxious all the time, scared even to go out.
But I didn’t want to be alone forever, locked in the house like a hermit.
So in February 2014, I turned to online dating.
I felt safe behind a computer, where nobody could see the real me.
After uploading my profile with carefully chosen images, I sent my first message.
Within minutes, a reply
I spent years worrying about how cruel people could be
pinged in my inbox. Hi, how are you doing? it said. It was from a woman named Brooke, then 27.
As we chatted online, I realised there was a spark between us.
But I didn’t open up about my PCOS. Was terrified it’d put Brooke off.
Eventually, in the April, we arranged to meet for coffee.
On the day of our date, I was so nervous.
Spent hours shaving every inch of my skin.
When I arrived, Brooke gave me a hug.
‘Nice to finally meet you!’ she said.
In person, we connected just as much as we had online. And I really fancied her. As we talked, I suddenly realised something.
I wanted to open up to Brooke about my condition.
Taking a deep breath, I casually mentioned my excess body hair.
But to my surprise, Brooke didn’t recoil in horror.
‘I have a problem with excess facial hair, too,’ she smiled. ‘Annoying, isn’t it?’ Relief washed over me. Finally, I could relax. Before long, Brooke and I were living together.
Then, in April 2016, two years after we first met, Brooke had a question.
‘I love you,’ she said. ‘Will you marry me?’ I was ecstatic. ‘Yes, of course I will!’ I cried, hugging her.
But while I felt blissfully happy, there was one niggling problem.
I still didn’t feel comfortable in my own skin.
Still spent hours shaving, hiding my body from everyone but Brooke.
Then, one day last October, something inside me snapped.
I’d bought myself a low-cut dress to wear for drinks that same night.
Only, I didn’t have the hours to spare to shave off all my hair.
Disappointed, I was about to pull on a long-sleeved T-shirt and jeans. But then I stopped. I don’t have to shave
to wear this dress, I told myself firmly.
I was sick of being unhappy, ashamed.
So I slipped the dress over my head and went to meet my friends.
Walking down the street, I was terrified.
I could feel people’s eyes on me, lingering a little longer than usual. But no-one said a word. I’d spent years worrying about how cruel people would be, but it turns out they didn’t care.
Inspired, when I got home, I posted my first hairy selfie on Instagram. It was liberating. More than anything, I wanted other women with PCOS to know they weren’t alone.
And within minutes, I had a barrage of messages.
‘I’m really proud of you,’ Brooke told me.
Since, I’ve been overwhelmed by the support and positivity I’ve received.
Of course, I do get the odd negative comment.
But I won’t let a few ignorant people drag me back down.
I spent years hiding from the world, ashamed of my appearance.
But this summer, I’ll be baring all, and I can’t wait.
Bring on the low-cut dresses and the swimming costumes!
I’m hairy and proud.