Dear Rachel Green,
I should introduce myself first: I'm Razan Mahmoud, 30 year-old girl, a writer and translator from Egypt, Cairo specifically.
I like the way you treat your boobs in FRIENDS TV show. Particularly the scenes, at Monica and your flat, in your "home outfits" and.... NOT WEARING BRAS.
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Dear Rachel,
I'm a 30 year old unmarried woman, who lives in her parents' house, with 3 brothers, 1 sister, and abusive parents.
I was forced to wear bras since I was 10 years old, when my body started to take the girls' shape, and my breasts started to grow and make their appearance. And Hello: they have to be controlled!
I remember, in my girls-only school back their in Mecca, Saudi Arabia, where my parents started their life as a married couple to earn more money to sustain their 5 children during the present and the future. I say I remember in 5th grade, when I was 10 years old, the head teacher took the microphone violently, during the morning inner radio show, from the little girl who was reading the newspapers headlines, and told us, all the school girls, in a sarcastic tone: "I don't want to find your boobs swinging back and forth, wear soutien-gorge for the love of God!"
We all laughed in embarrassment. I felt she was pointing at me from my back, and she -definitely in my child mind- meant how I look. I returned home to my neighbor school-mate, who was absent that specific day, and told her on the doorstep with a very loud voice: "The head teacher said to wear soutien-gorge starting from tomorrow. You should hurry and buy one!"
My mother laughed about that, and in fact hurried, this very busy doctor who works two shifts every day, hurried to any women's clothing store and bought me two. They were TIGHT, not allowing me to breathe freely. I didn't speak out, I thought that this was THE NORMAL.
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I grew up in a family were words like "cover your body properly" and "it's embarrassing and shameful to let your breasts show like this. Make the headscarf -Hijab- longer to cover them.""What I do about the strong wind, Ma? It makes the Hijab fly and my well-covered-with-layers-of-clothes breasts show. What shall I do?" And my mum would answer firmly: "Put some pins to attach the Hijab with your blouse, so it will not get lifted up by wind." And I did.
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I grew up to hate the wind, to hate the way people look directly at my boobs not at my eyes, and eventually to hate going out of the house. I started questioning God in a very small age: Why did You create me as a female and not a strong, not-caring-what-people-say-about-his-body boy??
I hated my body, Rachel, and specifically: my boobs.
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I became older and chubbier. I felt deeply and greatly more ashamed of my body. I got immersed in feelings of depression and anxiety. I tried to kill myself several times for various reasons, but didn't dare to. Till I noticed: Rachel in her home doesn't wear any tight-not-allowing-breathing-normally bras!! Why can't I be like her?
I remembered at once what Mother had said to me and my sister as we were growing up: "It's SHAMEFUL and embarrassing to let your boobs swing freely in front of your brothers and father." What I understood of that was: My brothers and father, the closest men to me in my life, were inherently DANGEROUS and it's unsafe to show my body to them. I have to be "properly" covered even at home, even in a very affected by global warming house. We can't hug each other, I can't wear anything other than "fully covering" my whole body, except for my head, and the area between my hand palms and elbows. That were the only areas that could breathe freely.
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I write, dear Rachel. I blog and write stories. I wrote a story about a chubby woman, who was in love with a very handsome man. The man disappeared after the police violence that broke out after 2011. He got back, rich and well, to find her very depressed. They got married quickly, and in their wedding night, which would be her first sexual experience, she couldn't get her clothes fully off, because she was really embarrassed by how her body look like. This is me, Rachel, in an imaginative situation. I can't bear the idea that my boobs are fat and hanging loosely without the tight ugly bra. I hate the way I look like.
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I wrote later on an article, under the title of "When Her Breasts Spoke Out", describing an interview with a married woman who talked endlessly about the harassment she faced: in streets, at home, at doctors' clinics, by the eyes of her own father, etc. The article was very heavy and not an easy before-bed-reading. But I ended it up with a sentence: "I thank my husband, who is SO LOVING and caring. He didn't criticize how I look, who didn't touch me without my approval, he is smiling and supportive all the time. I love him dearly, and I'm empowered by his love and support. I'm given new powers to give the world the middle finger and walk with my head up high, not afraid of anything."
What you don't know, Rachel, is that this girl is me, and the supportive husband is my imaginary loved man, who is very supportive and kind and loving and never sarcastic or humiliating.
..........
I undergo a very good kind of psychotherapy, called the Narrative Exposure Therapy, to talk about EVERYTHING that hurt me or mad me feel good. I love the sessions and deeply respect my therapist, who keeps a very professional and appropriate therapeutic relationship with me. Yesterday, during the session, I broke into screaming and crying. He waited till I calmed down, DIDN'T touch or hug me, and explained to me on a sheet of paper the phases I'm going through in this kind of treatment. I loved that dearly, and I got more confident, that I decided to write to you telling you how inspiring you are, and took of my tight bra and wore a good vest/undershirt under my pajamas, at home. I don't feel ashamed of my body, at least not by the same density that I used to feel. I'm stronger, that if my mother noticed that I'm not wearing any bra, I'll give her a strong piece of my mind. I WILL NOT KEEP SHUT UP AND SHUNNED ANY LONGER.
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I'll leave the parents' house soon, but after I find a good job with high pay. I carry a pocket knife with me to any place I go to protect myself against any harassment. I speak out and up to tell other girls that they have every and all the rights in the world to do what they want with their bodies, regarding that they don't hurt themselves. I also encourage every harassed and abused girl to undergo psychotherapy with a good male/female trustworthy psychiatrist.
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Rachel, I started praying again to God, and asking him to give me strength and to fill my heart with love and light. I travel to where I can sit in front of the sea whenever I feel I want to kill myself. I learnt very recently that my Soul is VERY precious, and cannot be wasted for some dumb coward people. I started reaching again for friends, cutting off those who hurt/had hurt me, and choosing well who to listen to me. I started working out to Youtube videos in order to enhance my physical health. And finally, I accepted how I look.
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Thanks Rachel, I hope this finds you in a good state of health.
Thanks again.
Keep inspiring!
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With love:
Razan,
or like I prefer: Rose
P.s.: You are welcome if you wanted me to translate any of my works from Arabic into English :))
31-3-2017
Cairo
31 degrees Celsius.
