Braless Is Better

Not wearing a bra... braless... letting the puppies (or kittens, in my case) play freely. Yes, when I went to the grocery store this morning, I didn't bother strapping the girls into anything that would restrict their natural movement. Shopping at the mall? Nope. Church last Sunday? Sorry, that was me swaying completely to the music. (Oh, get over it. Do you really think Mary, mother of Jesus, wore a bra? I rest my case.) Shirts versus skins amateur basketball tournament? Dang, I was benched before that decision had to be made.

Looking back, I can see how naive and silly I was fifteen years ago. I can also remember the real reason I rarely confine my chest into some modern day instrument of Puritanism.

It was the turn of the century (the year 2000, for the calendar deficient). Between the stress of work, my husband launching his own business, and a move from my beloved home to a big city, everything was crashing down on me. The end result was headaches, upper back pain, and a miserable me.

I suffered through it for almost six months before that fateful day my husband came to me with a bewildering question: would I be willing to try going without a bra for a month to see if it helped my maladies.

Fifteen years ago, prior to that moment, before six months of increasingly excruciating pain, I wouldn't be caught dead without a bra. I even slept in a sports bra.

My hubby is a curious sort and loves research. He had been looking for anything we hadn't tried to help my upper thoracic(back)/lower cervical(neck) spasms, which were the likely source of my recurrent head aches. Low-and-behold, an unpublished work by a couple of orthopedic surgeons in England reported an unusual finding.

Women scheduled for surgery due to neck and upper back pain, when asked to go without the 'benefit' of a bra during pre-surgical preparations, often noted reduced symptoms, even before their actual surgery.

Discussing things, the dynamic-doctor-duo started to consider the bio-mechanics of the brassiere.

They noted that those nasty things were distributing weight from the front of the chest, up over the shoulders, crossing directly over the thoracic-cervical spinal transition zone and associated parts: muscles, joints, spine. Everything was potentially affected, even resting posture. That shoulder-to-shoulder boulder holder was intentionally moving structural stress onto the upper back and lower neck. It couldn't really be that simple, could it?

Obviously, the bra was made by a group of men to help women, right? Nope. The brassiere was made to keep the God-fearing menfolk focused on their jobs and proper etiquette. Why bother retraining a man when you could more easily torture a non-voting woman. Rapidly the freedom of movement was replaced by the proper brassiere, corset, and other torment devices. All to keep evil women from flaunting their apple-eating harlot bodies, and thus deliberately forcing men to have improper thoughts. Heaven knows, no righteous guy would ever have an improper thought if not directly lured by a woman... at least not more than six a minute. (Yes, I know, that study was flawed, but it's still very funny.)

With the passing of time, this original reason for the invention of the bra has been lost. Most people incorrectly think it was made to help women by supporting the breast and to prevent sagging. Not really truth in advertising is it? Yet look what gender is running the ad campaign to promote another piece of lingerie to be added to a woman's "essential" wardrobe.

Knowing it's not to support the breast tissue, why not consider asking women, while on the waiting list for surgery, to 'go natural' for a month. I'm sure our good doctors spun it as "in preparation for surgery" instead of "because we're beady-eyed sex fiends that want to see bouncing boobies everywhere!" (Cue up "Bounce Your Boobies" by Rusty Warren.)

For their study, they evaluated pain scores, mobility, headache frequency, and any other data point they could find (I'm sure the doctors' wives nixed the nipple diameter and 'cup-ability' of the-breast-in-hand aspects of the study, but being boys first, scientists second, I bet it was on their original study outline).

Interesting trial for the patient, not so good for surgical income because a significant portion of the women who went braless improved enough not to need surgery. Back pain? Gone. Neck pain? Nada. Headaches? "Dammit, Jim, bring that one back or I'm gonna have to start putting out!"

Returning to my own painful situation, facing my husband's puppy-dog eyes begging me to try, I bit the bullet. I bit my lip. I did a hundred hail Mary's that first day, asking forgiveness for my sin. I left the bra off.

The following morning, I got reminded not to put it on.

"But it's not working," I whine to my scientist.

"It's been eleven hours," he says.

"Yes! And it's NOT working!" I emphasize, since he seems to want to prove my point.

"How long have you been in pain?"

"Four months."

"Half a year, sorry. Nice try. Next contestant," Dr Smarty-Pants says.

"So? It's not working," I grumble.

"So I get half a day to fix a problem spawning, growing, consuming you for six months? The study said four to six weeks."

"But people will see!"

"You mean under your T-shirt, button-up, sweat shirt, and... please! A scarf? It's spring, at least lose the scarf."

I reluctantly put down the bra, leaving all the other clothes on, thankful it was my day off. No freaking way I was going to work without a bra.

Little did I know just how adamant my belligerent husband could be in some instances.

The next day is much easier. Much fucking easier because, "Where the hell are all my bras?" I snarl.

He swallows with a deer-in-headlight look. Not a good sign before I've had my breakfast. He bolts for the door.

"Stop! Man-up!" I yell at his retreating back.

He turns back toward me when at a safe distance, "That's cowboy up, to you, sweetie! Free Willie!" and he pumps his fist in the air before hastening to finish his escape.

By the end of the second week, I'm woman enough to admit, I was having fewer headaches. My neck still ached like a son-of-a, but I swear, Aspirin and I were no longer having an intimate relationship. Of course, neither were my husband and I, but that's not necessarily out of the ordinary.

Finishing the third week, he had grown a set and returned to our bed, sleeping uneasily as I occasionally sang the 'Bobbit' song. I wasn't going to mention my neck pain was reduced by more than half. Let him sweat a little more.

End of the first month? I wanted my brassieres back, but only for special occasions. Like when I go out in public. When I get up in the morning. When I go to bed at night. You wouldn't take Linus' security blanket away, would you? Unfortunately, my husband would... the bastard.

Start of week five. I had to start being honest with him, because he'd hidden a small fortune in lingerie. My neck and upper back were almost completely pain free. I hadn't had a headache for almost ten days. My boobs didn't hurt. They weren't even hitting my knees... yet.

Ladies? Here's a special hint: don't marry a scientist. Not only will they try to support everything with fact, plus at least two references, but everything becomes a classic study where a single result means nothing.

"Ok, you tried our little test. You can have them all back," he smiles, returning the stack of my clothing. He earns himself a blow job. (Oh, as if you've never been so happy to get your way you don't go a little crazy.)

Little did I know, his devious man-mind was still at work. Two weeks later, I make the mistake of dumping out three aspirin onto my plate at breakfast.

"Headache, huh?"

"No shit, Sherlock, who gave you the first clue?" I glare at him, daring him to mention labeled dose.

"You want me to rub your shoulders?"

Never trust a guy volunteering to give you a back rub. He wants something. Or, in my case, he's about to prove something I don't want to really hear.

"Sure," I say, somewhat dejectedly into my toast and pills.

His hands gently start at my shoulders, then in toward my lower neck...

"Holy mother of... stop! Ow! Stop!"

"Oh, sorry. Neck pain?"

"Yes, Einstein, and shoulder tenseness, and..."

Flick. Where the fuck do guys learn to do that? I didn't even have time to flinch, let alone stop to realize what he was doing reaching behind my back again. My girls drop two inches.

"Fucker."

"Thank you. We're starting braless study, phase three now. I trust you can have your bras and use them responsibly? Only in dire emergency? Like you've got an audience with the Pope?"

"Fucker." Only this time, it's said in that tone that means I've given up. Dammit, the stupid Y chromosome-holding genetic freak now held all the cards. {Funny, I never realized how much I could swear when in pain. The good news is that scientific studies show cursing increases your pain tolerance - cuss away.}

"Thank you. You want help taking it the rest of the way off?"

Stupid-ass puppy-dog eyes. God I love him. No matter how hard he makes it.

It only takes three weeks this time. Completely pain free. Last aspirin almost the day after our showdown. I wore a bra less than seven hours over that period of time, and only because it was summer now, and it's too hot to keep wearing a sweatshirt every time I go out.

Then a not-so-funny thing happens. We're out and I've worn just a T-shirt and a huge baggy sweatshirt with jeans. It's hot. I was going to pass out.

"Take off your sweatshirt, silly!"

"I don't have on a bra, dipstick!"

"Sorry, I forgot. Everyone looks at you. You're the center of the universe."

"Stop being an ass, I'm dying of heat."

"You think anyone really gives a flying flip about what you are or aren't wearing? I'll help you watch for the first leery-eyed bastard that looks your way. You get 'that' look, we're out of here. If you don't get that look, you accept it: unfortunately, you're just not that important... just like me. People are in their own worlds and they never see the world around them. Take your freedom and live it."

Stupid revolutionary scientists.

I hate to admit it, but I didn't burst into flames that day not wearing one out in public. Except for the rare occasion, it didn't seem like anyone ever noticed. In fact, until much more recently when I started wearing the thinner, lace-and-sheer tops as I grew more confident and comfortable with my body, did I ever notice anyone taking a second look at me.

It's amazing, not only am I still married to the scientist, but my girls get to roam free everywhere we go. Though I still enjoy a good massage today, it's not needed for neck and upper back pain.

If you or someone you love has upper back pain, neck discomfort, shoulder tenseness, or headaches, it's an easy experiment to try on your own (at least if you're female or a bra-wearing guy). There's no serious significant side-effects and you might be surprised at the amount of mental freedom you feel.

So in answer to, "Uh, excuse me miss, but you have a very nice, uh, natural movement to you when you walk. You aren't, uh, you're not..."

"You bet, buck-o. I'm not wearing a bra! And I'm loving it!"