The Secret Armor

Finishing 10th grade felt like escaping a cage.

I was finally free from the learning center. I was free from the instructors and the peers who had hurt me. The only shadow that remained was the man from our inner circle. He was still in my life, still using me. To this day, I struggle to understand why I couldn't resist him. But trauma has a way of silencing you.

During this time, I started to connect the dots.

I realized that the bullying, the name-calling, and the abuse all centered on one thing: my body. Specifically, my chest. My soft tissues were the first point of attraction for the predators and the first point of mockery for the bullies.

I knew I couldn't change my body. So, I decided to crush it.

The Invention

I didn't know the word "binding." I just knew I needed to flatten myself.

I learned a trick. I went to the store and bought thick cotton undershirts. I would pull them down hard over my upper body and tuck them tightly into my underwear.

It didn't make me flat. But it reduced the bulge a little bit.

It wasn't a perfect shield. People were still able to spot me, but not to the extent as before. It gave me a slightly flatter silhouette. It was uncomfortable, hot, and restrictive, but it made me feel just a little bit safer.

The Bathroom Ritual

Because the armor wasn't perfect, wearing it required constant vigilance. If I raised my arms or moved too fast, the undershirt would come untucked, and the illusion would break completely.

This changed how I lived my life. Especially in public.

Urinals became impossible. They were too open. To use a urinal meant un-tucking and re-tucking in front of others, which would reveal my secret immediately.

So, I stopped using them. I would only use the toilet stalls—the ones with doors that locked. Inside that small cubicle, I could relieve myself and then spend minutes fixing my armor, pulling it tight, and tucking it back in before facing the world again.

There were times when I couldn't find a proper toilet. In those moments, I would just hold it. I would endure the physical pain of a full bladder rather than risk compromising my body in public.

I became hyper-vigilant. I wasn't just living; I was managing a constant cover-up operation. I thought I was just being careful. I know now that I was surviving.

(Next: The Face in the Crowd)