Many are the rewards of becoming a mother. You know the obvious ones—the small, magical moments: growing a tiny life inside your womb, feeling those first flutters and kicks, and witnessing your body transform in ways you never imagined. Compliments on your “pregnancy glow” and the sense of power that comes from seeing your round, pregnant belly in the mirror are just the beginning. For me, pregnancy made me feel radiant, confident, and deeply connected to the life I was creating.
Motherhood doesn’t stop there. Our bodies instinctively provide nourishment, day after day, sleepless night after sleepless night. We awaken at 2 a.m., listening to those tiny gulps with every let-down of milk. Our breasts fill, then empty—over and over—for months, sometimes years. Each feed requires patience as they suckle, pull, and release. It can be exhausting—literally draining—but that milk strengthens their bodies, builds their immune systems, and fuels their growth. And then, over time, we watch these little humans, once completely dependent on us, grow into mature adults we will forever call our babies. These rewards are immeasurable; there is truly nothing like them.
Yet, as rewarding as motherhood is, no one prepares you for how your body changes along the way. After having our three children, I barely recognized myself. My body had done the extraordinary—it had created three human beings—but in doing so, it bore new marks, stretched skin, and changed shape entirely. My pant size jumped four sizes, and my small A-cup breasts grew to large C’s with each round of nursing. By the end of feeding my third child, the reflection in the mirror no longer resembled the woman I once knew. I felt discouraged. And in an attempt to reclaim my confidence, I made a choice I thought would help: I went under the knife.
In April 2012, I had my first plastic surgery, receiving 350cc silicone “gummy bear” implants placed under the muscle. When I awoke from surgery, the first thing I did was touch my chest. Though bandaged, I could feel the new fullness, and a smile spread across my face. I was wheeled to my car and driven home, and though the first few days were filled with pain—like an elephant pressing on my chest—eventually my body healed.
With healing came confidence. I filled out my clothes differently, enjoyed wearing bikinis and low-cut tops again, and felt truly happy with my reflection. I took more selfies, laughed more, and embraced my appearance in a way I hadn’t in years. But that happiness was short-lived. About a year later, it all began to unravel. One day, I sat on the edge of my bed feeling off, fatigued, and unlike myself. Shortness of breath, extreme exhaustion, and a sense that something was wrong led me to a doctor who prescribed an inhaler and referred me to a pulmonologist. Answers were elusive.
Over the years, I cycled through specialists—pulmonologists, allergists, cardiologists, gastroenterologists, ENT doctors, internists—and countless emergency room visits, all while my symptoms worsened: chest pain, swollen lymph nodes, hypoglycemia, IBS, anxiety and panic attacks, tinnitus, vertigo, melasma, cystic acne, joint pain, heart palpitations, and breathlessness. Yet every professional assured me it was “all in my head.” My labs came back normal, so I had to take matters into my own hands. My life was deteriorating; I barely had energy to care for myself or my family, my blood sugar was unstable, and I felt utterly defeated in my roles as a wife and mother.
Finally, in 2017, I found a naturopathic doctor who helped me begin unraveling the mystery. Through extensive research and his expertise, we discovered the cause: my body was reacting to my breast implants. I was diagnosed with Breast Implant Illness, along with hypothyroidism, adrenal fatigue, and several other conditions I had suffered silently for years. It all began to make sense.
I learned that even “safe” implants contain the same silicone outer shell, which harbors over 40 toxic chemicals, including mercury, formaldehyde, and arsenic. Over time, these chemicals seep into the bloodstream, affecting organs, hormones, and overall health. For some women, symptoms appear sooner; for others, later—but the effect is inevitable. With my doctor’s guidance, I began a healing protocol and started planning explant surgery, determined to remove not just the implants, but the encapsulating tissue around them.
In April 2018, I went back under anesthesia—this time to remove my implants. I was anxious about appearance, yet overwhelmingly motivated to regain my health. Waking up, I felt light, clear, and alive. Touching my bandaged chest, joy flooded over me. I was wheeled home, but unlike before, my recovery was gentle, pain minimal, and the healing transformative—not just externally, but internally.
Gradually, my body rebounded. Blood sugar stabilized, melasma and cystic acne faded, energy returned, and most symptoms vanished. I no longer required thyroid medication, though I kept the empty bottle as a testament to my journey. Day by day, I reclaimed my life. I may have lost a cup size, but I gained health, vitality, and a renewed sense of self.
Looking back, this journey taught me invaluable lessons. Our bodies are already beautiful, perfectly designed to nurture life, produce milk, and function daily. Society’s standards of beauty are fleeting, and self-esteem should never demand that we inject toxins into our bodies. True confidence comes from honoring the incredible work our bodies perform and trusting in their ability to heal.
Now, when I look in the mirror, I see resilience. I see a woman who endured illness, found answers, and reclaimed her life. I am grateful for every lesson, every trial, and every day my body thrives. I will never take my health for granted again—because nothing is more rewarding than life itself.
— OV
