My top surgery wasn't what I imagined, but it helped me accept myself
As a non-binary person, Eagan Johnston is embracing what makes their body unique
This First Person article is the experience of Eagan Johnston, who had surgery to remove breast tissue in 2020. For more information about CBC's First Person stories, please see the FAQ. This segment originally aired in June 2021.
When I was teenager in Edmonton my summer attire was always jeans and T-shirts. I would do everything to avoid showing skin so a farmer's tan was the look for the season.
It seemed like overnight I went through puberty — there was no time for training bras or to adjust to my new figure.
That's when my long, seemingly never-ending nightmare began. There were constant body and hormone changes, and I ended up with persistent, negative self-talk that reinforced that my body didn't feel like me.
I tried to find ways to be comfortable in my body, but the more I grew, the more something felt deeply wrong, something that I didn't have the words for.
I thought I was too fat, too femme, too much, not strong enough, not good enough, not enough.
I couldn't figure out why there was this divide inside me. I didn't feel like my body was mine — I was just using it.
It wasn't until I saw a term online that it clicked: non-binary.
There it was. This piece of me that had been flapping in the breeze for so long. It finally had a home. I couldn't believe that this part that forever didn't fit, finally did.
A weight off my chest
Then I found out I could opt for top surgery. My breasts were a huge weight on me, both physically as well as mentally, and they had to go.
Before that decision I was in a body that did not feel like mine, but I just had to make do.
No matter how many modifications I did with hairstyles, hair colours, piercings, nothing felt right. But once I had the appointment for the surgery, I finally felt like I was taking a major step forward into my own body.
Leading up to the surgery, I was a giant ball of nerves. I initially chose to do a breast reduction. That felt safer, like I wouldn't be too masculine and I could still move through spaces with groups of women and queer women and not feel like an outsider.
Part of me wondered if I wasn't going far enough, but at the same time, was I going too far?
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When the day of the surgery came, thankfully my surgeon offered me one more chance to choose a full top surgery removal instead of a reduction. I knew that was the right move.
After the procedure, I was excited to see how my chest would look. I had so many images of what my post-surgery body would look like in those few moments before I went under anesthetic.
At home, it was the most invigorating feeling seeing my drains and the compression bandage wrapped all over my chest. I wanted to peek so badly under the bandages, and when I did, I was so happy to see my chest.
But once the nurse finally removed these huge dressings and I got a chance to see my chest in full, I could feel myself deflate.
Readjusting my expectations
It wasn't what I pictured. One nipple graft looked exactly like a nipple, while the other looked like a kidney bean. There were also still folds of a little excess skin and fat underneath my armpits, something that some people who have had the surgery call dog-ears.
My first thought was, "What did they do to my body? Why is it not perfect?"
"I waited so long and I wound up with this?" I thought to myself. "I look like a freak."
As I adjusted, I had many appointments with my psychologist about what this meant, and I had similar conversations with my doctor as well. There was still a part of my body that I had to learn to accept.
But when my surgical wounds started to heal, I noticed something lifting. I became more outgoing, I was more like my old self again. I was even able to put myself out there and enter the wild world of dating during the pandemic. And I found a partner. We just recently celebrated a year together.
Working on myself this past year, it's helped me to recognize that everyone has parts of their body they struggle to embrace. I can see that these scars are all part of my journey to discovering my true self.
At the end of the day, I'm still learning to love my lopsided kidney bean-shaped nipple, but it's part of who I am.
The scars, my tattoo, the so-called imperfections, it all makes me, me.