Just like you, I never really gave much thought about how I looked like down there. I knew how I looked, and I knew certain parts seemed large or stuck out, but getting work done never really crossed my mind. I had a relatively healthy sex life and no one mentioned anything about it. But somehow, something triggered me to do something about it. Then there was no turning back.
It was around four years ago when I was with my ex, Tom*, and there was one night we were getting intimate. He was into straight up vanilla sex, which was fine with me, but one night he asked if I was okay to watch a few “videos” with him. I was probably a bit hesitant at first but I finally warmed up to the idea. While we were watching, though, something hit me. Hard. I realised my folds were bulkier and I wasn’t as “neat” as the girl in the footage. ”Hey, um, I don’t look like that, do I… Mine looks like it ’s all on the outside and not on the ‘inside’,” I said to Tom. ”No big deal,” he said, as he put his arm around me.
I promptly put the thought on the backburner, but the next day, and the following week, it kept coming back into my mind. I even asked my friends about it. I had to drag it out of them, about how they actually looked down there. I realised I was different. It made me so self-conscious that I couldn’t bring myself to be intimate with Tom again. We drifted apart and broke up.
Intrigued, I did research obsessively for months, and called up aesthetic clinics anonymously. There were even some clinics I saw in Sydney that specialised in this “area”, which got my mind thinking. I was going on vacay to Australia and wondered if I could squeeze in a consultation and appointment. Looking back, I realise I was in denial. I think I knew deep down that if I’d spoken to more people or seen more images of “real” vaginas, then I would know that I was normal. But I wasn’t satisfied, personally. It wasn’t that I was unhappy with how it looked, but the thought that I could enhance how it looked and make it “prettier” was constantly in my head.
For some reason I held onto the idea I would find my confidence in surgery. When I did meet the doctor in Sydney, it turned out my instincts were right and mine was normal. But my desperation to have the procedure remained. I did have to schedule the surgery a few months down the line, which gave me time to think. In the end, I did fly back and went ahead with it. At the clinic, all the medical staff took great care to make sure that I was taking the surgery seriously, and not just some whim of fancy, but I was adamant that I wanted this. I wasn’t self-conscious or anything, but it felt like I was doing the right thing for myself.
Ninety minutes later and a few thousand dollars poorer, I was out. The recovery process was not so pleasant, but six weeks of healing was all it took. I don’t tell just anyone what happened. We haven’t come to a point in our society to speak about this openly. It was just a part of my body that made me uncomfortable and now I’m fine with it. Truthfully, I wouldn’t advocate doing it. I’m not exactly proud of what I’ve done, but I don’t regret it.”