Lorne Jaffe worked and to get to a place of acceptance, and to feel worthy of love. Gynecomastia affects 40-60% of men.
“I should have said something earlier,” my mother said regretfully as I hugged a sofa cushion. We sat in my childhood home, clock ticking towards dawn. “I’ll pay for the operation.”
I was a 29-year-old single man living paycheck-to-paycheck while working as a secretary at New York University and had just told my mother about having breasts (“gynecomastia” in medical terms) with which I’d lived for the past 18 years.
I grew up a seemingly normal, slightly chubby boy who by age 11 had a chest resembling a partially-deflated blow-up doll’s, sagging breasts, one noticeably larger than the other, huge areolas. For the next 18 years I wore dark, oversized clothing and walked with hunched shoulders, thumbs pushing out my shirt bottom to keep my upper body formless, using anything I could (pillow, notebook, rolled-up jacket) as a shield to deflect imagined prying eyes. I lived in a state of unremitting shame, constantly aware of my body.
Now I surged with hope and anger for although there might be an end to my humiliation, I spent most of my life imprisoned by my body. Gym classes were periods torturous filled with the “Bouncy! Bouncy!” chants of my peers. I couldn’t swim without a t-shirt. I skipped parties, sports and dating. In college, as my housemates and friends went to frats and drank themselves into oblivion, I sat in a corner watching enviously or stayed home. By the time I graduated from college I had an overdeveloped chest and an underdeveloped ability to cope.
My pediatricians and parents never directly mentioned my feminine physique to me, but they knew, because as much as you think you’re hiding, it’s impossible to yourself at all times. My father sometimes made allusions. He once bought a bench press as a “bonding” tool and taught me ways to tighten my pecs, but it felt like a façade. I knew I couldn’t be fixed through diet or exercise, so our weightlifting sessions gradually ebbed.
I diagnosed myself with gynecomastia at 27 after noticing an advertisement for male breast reduction in the newspaper. According to keepkidshealthy.com, the condition affects 40-60% of all men in varying degrees and has numerous causes including obesity, steroid abuse and chromosomal disorders such as Klinefelter’s Syndrome. In my case it arose from a pubertal hormonal imbalance that afflicts nearly 40% of adolescent boys, usually by age 14. 90% see their symptoms disappear within three years, but for the rest it can be devastating and can lead to clinical depression, anxiety disorders and even suicide. Surgery remains the best “cure” (the American Society for Aesthetic Plastic Surgery reported a 103.6% in gynecomastia surgeries between 1997 and 2012), but many cannot afford the generally uninsured $3,000-$5,000 cost. Others may be too self-conscious to seek help.
Despite my horror at discussing this with my mother, I wished we’d broached it when it first arose and I was furious that my parents knew and did nothing. If resolved early, it’s possible I could have been outgoing, assured, maybe an athlete with scads of girlfriends or at the very least a risk-taker. Perhaps I wouldn’t have flown to Amsterdam at 23, desperate to lose my virginity, only to fail because I was so embarrassed upon undressing beneath the fluorescent red light (I finally lost it the following year). Maybe I would have avoided clinical depression. In the end I stayed silent.
I chose an Upper West Side cosmetic surgeon who treated me like a distressed person rather than a dollar sign. He stood paternally while I disrobed until I was half-naked but completely exposed. I willed myself to keep my shoulders back and my arms uncrossed as he took notes. He explained the procedure, warned of scarring and persistent numbness and cautioned I probably wouldn’t see the full effect of the surgery for at least a year, but after more than half a lifetime of mental debilitation, I looked forward to emotional relief. Though my parents were supportive, years of silence kept me distant.
As my chest healed, my confidence slowly increased until I was on a high, but highs, I would discover, are fleeting. I fell for a beautiful woman with a gorgeous smile, deep brown eyes, and a mass of dark, thick curls my hands itched to touch. One day I gathered up my courage and asked her to “hang out” sometime—not the most romantic words, but the best I could manage with such little experience. To my surprise she agreed. The date lasted 12 hours. We bowled, laughed, went to the movies, kissed, ate, and finally, she took me to a bar to meet her friends where I got a seal of approval. We married two years later. It was the happiest day of my life.
But my contentment was short-lived. In 2010 I suffered a severe nervous breakdown resulting in months of stuttering, tremors, hyperventilating, a facial tic and massive crying episodes. Despite being in therapy and on antidepressants for years, I never dealt with my past. My therapist and I discussed how gynecomastia played the biggest role in my continuing anxiety and clinical depression. While family, school, and my body betrayed me, the latter imprisoned me during my most vulnerable time of life—adolescence—the period where one forms their identity. I became “The Boy With Breasts” and that self-inflicted brand never left my mind.
Exploring the toll it’s taken on my psyche and self-esteem is difficult, but rewarding. My parents joined me in therapy several times allowing me to directly express my anger regarding their ignorance. My mother mentioned my pediatricians said to ignore the problem because it would go away, that she’d been guilt-ridden for years. My father had tears in his eyes.
Now less than a month away from turning 40, I have a flat chest, a wonderful wife in whose presence I feel loved and a gorgeous 22-month-old daughter. I’m a stay-at-home dad (SAHD) and blog regularly about being a SAHD dealing with depression and anxiety. My shoulders remain permanently rounded from years of hunching. I still wear baggy clothes and imagine eyes locked to my torso. But thanks to therapy I’ve forgiven my parents and shared my experiences on my blog, Facebook and gynecomastia-related message boards helping me feel less alone in my struggles.
My surgery took place 10 years ago. It took a little over a year for my chest to physically heal. Emotionally, however, recuperation continues to be a day-to-day process.
Photo: Geralt, PixaBay
First off, thank you for sharing your story. It’s important to recognize and speak about a horrifying reality for so many men, who feel utterly alone and ashamed of themselves. I dated someone for three years with this condition, and he made every attempt to hide himself in public, but occasionally and accidentally revealed how deeply traumatized he truly was. I sensed that he secretly loathed himself for being the way he was and thought it severely challenged his manliness (which, of course, it did not). I felt horrible and saddened that he lived in this unnecessary personal hell. I… Read more »
Thanks so much, MindSpoken! I’m truly grateful that you dated someone w/ the condition w/out judgment and you recognized how much pain he was in. I think that’s wonderful and tells just how great you are as a person. You’re right about society playing a huge role in why people with gynecomastia feel such shame and I agree that societal mores created through media (particularly advertising) are detrimental when it comes to “true” masculinity and femininity. We look at these images and compare ourselves to them and then try to make ourselves become them. It’s insidious and awful. I hope… Read more »
I love reading your stuff, Lorne. Thank you for sharing such an experience.
Thanks, Matt!
Although our stories are different I can definitely relate. I’m a transguy (assigned female at birth), going through puberty and developing breasts was by far the most traumatic thing that has ever happened to me. I’m still saving up to have my chest reconstructed and in the interim bind it daily to try to hide what’s there. It’s not really that effective so I have to hunch, wear baggy clothing, dark colors, layers, avoid certain styles, etc. It is hard to be so cognizant of these things all the time for sure. I applaud you for doing the hard work… Read more »
Thanks so much, Devin! I’m glad you’re saving up to have your chest reconstructed and I wish you nothing but the best. So many people don’t realize what always being conscious of your body is like. You never feel free. I’m glad I could share so that people such as yourself know that they’re not alone. It took me a long time to get here, though. For everyone who has this or a similar affliction, a great resource is http://www.gynecomastia.org where there are forums for you to share your story and connect with others. And know that surgery is fantastic,… Read more »
thanks so much, Adrian!
I’m happy for you Lorne. Thank you for sharing your story.
I am so happy your story has come to a point where you can feel good about yourself. It’s wonderful that you have a supportive family. The period you describe sounds so lonely, traumatic and upsetting. Your ability to overcome and persevere is moving.
Thanks so much, Larry! That period in my life really was horrendous and unfortunately shaped a lot of things about me, but ‘m dealing with it and moving on as best I can. Getting this piece out there is a big help. Thanks again!
I can relate…I went though puberty and much of my teen year genetically rake thin, breastless and even a delayed onset of menses. I felt like a freak in many ways, and fantasized about having a normal body.
I do wonder how much of this gynomastia is the phyto-[estrogen rich environment we are raising our kids in–plastics, soy and tofu (sorry soy lovers, unless it’s fermented it’s body toxic and testosterone depleting) and of course, hormone ridden mass slaughtered meats.
I applaud your honesty and courage in writing this piece.
You forgot pharmaceutical hormones that leech into the water supply – specifically birth control.
Thanks so much, Lori! You and Christina have great points about the chemicals and hormones they’re putting in our food and water. Very worried about my own daughter and the possible early onset of puberty. We’re making sure to give her organic milk and eggs. Wish we had the funds to go all organic, but we’re doing our best. Again, thanks for the kind words!
Bless your heart. I’m so sorry that you had to go through such a traumatic condition…I hope you are proud of yourself for working through your challenges and are able to see and feel the beauty that life can offer us as we learn to live with an open heart. Take care and thank you for telling your story. It’s an important one. xoxo
Thank you so much, Kate! I really appreciate your kind words of encouragement 🙂