Part 6/9: I tried Bibi Brzozka’s ecstatic expansion—and it stirred up more than pleasure

I have a confession:

I didn’t come to Waves of Pleasure out of curiosity. I came because Bibi Brzozka once shared that breast massage helped a client feel again… after a double mastectomy.

She, according to Bibi, experienced “heart and breast-gasms after undergoing breast cancer, double mastectomy, and injection of implants.” I mean, like, wow!

Granted, I didn’t go through breast cancer. But I know that’s huge considering the kind of trauma all those treatments had on the body.

There’s this one lady I sometimes talk to who went through breast cancer. She didn’t have a mastectomy, thank God, but she still experiencing the aftershock of chemo and radiation… and it’s almost three years later.

So when Bibi said “breast massage,” I came a’runnin’. (And if you read Part 3, you’ll know I’m no stranger to unexpected erogenous zones.)

Because even though I didn’t go through breast cancer, I still got my own scars. And it left me wondering, could anything Bibi says help me feel in my body again?

Me and the girls: a status check

Tits, boobs, rack, melons, the girls, bust, tatas, or even just plain ol’ breasts… Whatever it is you call those two mounds on your chest, there’s one thing for certain: breasts are a big deal for women. Love them or hate them, they’re a part of who we are.

But that’s not to say that we’re wholly satisfied with what the lottery gene pool gave us. Stats show that 71% of us are less than happy with our sets and wish that they were either bigger, smaller, or shaped differently. That said, it’s no wonder that cosmetic surgery of the breasts increased 15% from 2019 to 2022.

So when Bibi asked in the lesson, “What is your relationship with your breasts?” I didn’t have an answer. I hadn’t thought about it, really.

My breasts were just that — my breasts. Just like my hair’s my hair. And my face is my face. And my vagina is my vagina.

It was not something that I really dwelled upon or complained about. And even when I did have a fuss, they could be categorized as “good problems to have.”

Underboob sweat… My boobs playing peek-a-boo out of my bra… Or that end-of-day relief when I finally get to take the damn thing off.

Because, growing up, everyone around me was either wanting big boobs or ogling big boobs. And as a human who’s been well endowed since my teens, my breasts were a good “problem” to have.

Love, by default

Even now, I love how they give me a more feminine figure. I love how they clue me in before I even realize I’m stressed. I love how they’re like a built-in bib for any food that misses my mouth. And at the end of the day, I really love that I have what other people seem to want: big boobs.

Which is why Bibi’s question caught me off guard. Now, I’m questioning why it never occurred to me to have a relationship with my breasts.

The closest I ever got was second base for the usual lump checks, bra fidgeting, or the occasional breast massage during a spa session.

But I don’t think I’ve ever done much with the girls for pleasure (I mean, other people have, but that’s a whole different story). It just wasn’t something I was taught to do or told was an option.

I also think that’s why the breast cancer survivor I talk to is still hesitant to be intimate with her husband.

She told me this once when we were swapping stories about all the weird, wounded parts of our bodies after treatment. Like me, no one ever taught her that breasts could feel good or that they could be a source of pleasure, let alone orgasm.

So now, after the burning, the scars, and the fear, intimacy after trauma feels almost impossible to her. And she’s not alone. That’s how I felt, too, about my cervix.

And it turns out, the stories we’ve been told are nothing compared to the ones we’ve never dared to write.

Notes from the nippleverse

Anyone who’s sexually active knows that breasts play a huge role. “Breasts,” Bibi says, “are literally a portal and a gateway to so much magic, pleasure, and love.”

Not when it comes to sex after menopause, Bibi. Especially medically induced menopause.

The thing is, what people don’t tell you when you’re being diagnosed is how f*cked your body becomes. The discomfort, the dryness, and the hormone crashes.

Sleep goes to sh*t. Skin forgets how to glow. One minute you’re fine, the next you’re sweating bullets from the hot flashes.

It’s not sexy. And least of all, it doesn’t feel sexy.

So when Bibi’s all like, “magic” and “pleasure” and “love,” it took everything in me not to slam the laptop shut and call bullsh*t.

But I also knew I’m here for a reason…to, as Bibi puts it, “reclaim [my] breasts as a portal to liberation and the source of feminine pleasure.”

This means I have to start looking at what I believe about them and what kind of body image healing I still need.

Like, I know what turns me on when my husband’s doing the touching. But I never stopped to ask what I like…for me.

It’s time to change that. I want to be able to give myself a breast massage without feeling self-conscious or like I’m doing something wrong. I want it to feel natural and intentional, like brushing my hair or applying moisturizer to my face.

Because if I can learn to touch my face with love, maybe I can learn to do the same with my chest.

Chest day, but make it sacred

As an aromatherapist and former spa therapist, I’ve known about the benefits of breast massage for years. Lymphatic drainage, improved circulation, and hormonal support. Maybe a nod to self-care if the client was open to it.

We learned the basics: warm oil, gentle pressure, and skip the nipple if it feels too personal. Keep your tone even, your hands neutral, and move on to the next body part.

But the deeper stuff? The emotional, sensual, actually-for-you kind of breast massage? That was never part of the conversation.

What we weren’t taught, and what I never even considered, is that sensual self-touch could be intimate. And that, apparently, it could even lead to breast-gasms.

One study Bibi highlighted found that nipple stimulation activates the same part of the brain as the vagina, clitoris, and cervix. And not only that, but I never knew that something so simple could release a rush of oxytocin, the feel-good, bonding hormone we usually only hear about during birth or breastfeeding.

“This is how powerful bringing more pleasure to breasts can be,” Bibi adds.

Well, damn. I’d been missing out.

Still, the idea of enjoying my own breasts feels a little awkward. Society’s done a solid job of making sure we women don’t go there.

But I wanted to try. So I started circling. Slowly. And I’ll admit, it felt alien, yet also intuitive and therapeutic.

I let myself notice the texture of my skin, the temperature, the places that felt numb and the places that didn’t.

It was, in a way, liberating. To stay in the moment and enjoy the sensations without having to direct anyone or explain what felt good.

No breast-gasms, though. Maybe one day.

But for now, it’s just me, feeling something. Finally.

There’s nothing more that I love than an “OMG! She just said ‘pussy’ out loud”-type topic. It’s probably why I’m so intrigued with books like Marina Gerner’s The Vagina Business or Laila Mickelwait’s Takedown or articles like Caitlin Moran’s “Honeypot, Flaps, Twat: Nicknaming a Vagina Is Tricky Business” (which unfortunately is no longer on Jezebel).

Nobody told me pleasure would ghost me

When Bibi Brzozka entered Mindvalley’s realm with her Waves of Pleasure program, it was all I could do to not shoot my hand up in the air like Tracy Flick in Election and scream out, “Me! Me! Pick me!”

Granted, I wanted to go through this program for selfish reasons, and those reasons have everything to do with my cancer experience. As any patient or survivor (may Marisa Peer forgive me for using these words!) would know, after you go through rounds and rounds of chemo and/or radiation, some bits and bobs of you just don’t function like they used to.

A woman I know who had breast cancer shared that she no longer felt any desire to have sex with her husband (and in general). Another found it hard to feel aroused. Stories after stories of cancer not only taking away one’s health but also stripping away one’s sexual health.

And did you know that women who’ve had cancer are almost three times more likely to have sexual dysfunction than those who haven’t had cancer? This can look like having less interest in sex, trouble getting aroused, or difficulty reaching orgasm. On top of that, things like anxiety, depression, and feeling uncomfortable in the body can make it even harder.

Because, who are we kidding, cancer absolutely suuucks.

Me, myself, having gone through a Stage 2 cervical cancer experience in 2019, didn’t make me immune to the aftermath of what the 27 rounds of radiation and 4 of chemo did to my body. (I mean, why did no one give me any heads-up about the “sunburn” I’d get “down there” as a result?! Okay, I get it… I’d probably have opted for “nope” if I would’ve known. But still…)

When you tell your body to feel something… and it doesn’t listen

Needless to say, when it came to sex and pleasure, huh… Well, have you ever sat on your leg so long that it goes numb, and even when you try to tell it to move, it just won’t? It’s kind of like that.

And it’s not just me. A lot of women who’ve gone through cancer talk about feeling disconnected from their bodies. Like their femininity and desire. Even their sense of self took a hit. 

So imagine my excitement when the Mindvalley Summit 2021 came around and Bibi was one of the speakers. What perked my ears up was her story about a client who had “breast cancer, a double mastectomy, and injection of implants.” 

The interesting part is, this client began exploring breast massage benefits on her own and then invited her partner to do it, too. According to Bibi, she ended up getting [pleasure] sensation back.

If she could do it, who’s to say I couldn’t learn something to help out my female counterparts? So yeah, sold! Sign me up, Bibi. Waves of Pleasure, here I come.

Wait… is pleasure blocked by feelings?

Of course, feeling pleasure isn’t going to happen without putting in the work to get pleasure. And that starts with facing my emotions. All of them.

“If you want to feel pleasure, you have to open yourself up to feel more and to feel everything,” says Bibi. Oof, right in the feels (pun intended).

I mean, she makes a good point. Society has taught us, especially us women, not to be dramatic, not to be emotional, not to be angry…

We see this all the time.

Like when Serena Williams smashed her racket and demanded respect at the 2018 US Open, and the world called her “hysterical.”

Or when Kim Kardashian cried over her lost earring in Bora Bora, and the internet turned it into a meme.

Or when Greta Thunberg gave that fierce, tearful “How dare you?” speech at the U.N., and Donald Trump told her to “chill” and work on her anger management.

“The message is that we need to rein in our emotions,” Bibi points out. “And if you feel too much or, worse, express feeling too much, you aren’t taken seriously.”

So we suppress them. So much so that we’re pros at knowing how to control our emotions. 

Bibi explains that when we do this, our body becomes rigid. And those stuck emotions? They “prevent us from experiencing pleasure because it doesn’t allow us to be in a feeling state at all.”

Or, as she aptly puts it, emotional constipation.

Emotional constipation is a thing, apparently

“Holy sh*t,” I thought to myself. Perhaps that’s what I’m going through. Lately, I’ve had that feeling of wanting to cry, but not a tear wants to be shed. Or sometimes, I feel completely exasperated, but I’m too tired to even throw my hands up in the air and “aaaurgh!” myself to relief.

Emotional constipation. Genius.

…But then, the question is, what do I do about it? 

Bibi’s action-of-the-day is something she calls “Emotional Release & Re-Feel.” Essentially, you go through five of the primary emotions (frustration, sadness, anger, fear, happiness, pleasure) and allow yourself to feel them.

Feel. Them.

Feeling the feelings (even when it’s awkward as hell)

Okay, first, let me tell you: I sat through this 22-minute lesson twice.

The first time, I couldn’t do it. I just felt so fake doing it. Like when you do laughter yoga and it just feels so unnatural? That’s how I felt during the exercise. 

The second time, I was thinking, “No, I have to try this.” Because Bibi did mention resistance. Specifically, she says, “This might be the best time to do your pleasure practice because it will leave you feeling relaxed and more emotionally at ease.” (Like I said, in the feels.)

So I did it. No gahs, aurghs, or sobs came barging out looking for attention like Tracy Flick. But the feels did come in silent waves of relief.

I honestly don’t know what that was about. Could it be that society’s indoctrination has kept me from expression? Or perhaps I just don’t have those kinds of feelings to express right now? Or is it that I’m just full of sh*t?

“Allow you to recognize emotions as path to pleasure” is what Bibi advises. So I guess the only way to find out is to trust the process and to trudge on through.

But if you’re going through (or have gone through) something similar and you’re exploring your way back to feeling worthy…

I’d love to hear your story. Someone out there might need to hear it too. xo