Hey Reader,

Have you seen the news today? I cannot stop myself from reading about the very public, spectacular fallout between Donald Trump and Elon Musk. It’s like a soap opera!

Part of me wants to make popcorn and enjoy the show, while the other part of me keeps wondering why two extremely powerful grown men are acting like 7^th graders trying to out-petty each other in front of the entire lunchroom.

Which of course got me thinking about my own experience with 7^th grade, and what I was focused on back then.

Spoiler: It wasn’t launching a rocket or holding a rally.
​It was boobs.

If I were to show you a random diary of mine from middle school, you would see one overarching theme that surpassed all others, repeated each year in the ‘goal’ section:
​
​ “This year, please let me need a bra.”

It wasn’t a goal, actually. It was a full-scale dream.

Not a boyfriend. Or a trip. Or good grades or a better perm. Just boobs.

I could picture it—me, needing more than my white eyelet training bra that I had for entirely too long and never actually needed. I sometimes resorted to wearing my Wonder Twins Underoos because the top was like a sports bra, so desperate was my dream. I envisioned walking places, boobs in front of me, instead of the divots I had instead.

And one day, and it really did seem like it happened overnight, my dream came true. I got boobs! In abundance.

And I’ll tell you what: I loved it. I felt like I had arrived. Like I didn’t have to be embarrassed anymore. Like I’d finally been let into the club.

But that didn’t mean it was easy.

Because the truth is, our self-esteem, as women in particular, gets so freaking tangled up in our bodies. And breasts—whether we’re waiting for them, growing them, dressing them, feeding with them, covering them up, showing them off, or surviving them—never seem like just body parts, the ways calves or fingers do.

They are part of our story.

When I was in seventh grade, we had to do these “how to” presentations using flow-charts, showing our class how to do or make something.

One of the kids went through his presentation teaching us how to make Irish potatoes. When he was done, he handed one out to every kid in the class. And like any seventh-grade boy with a fragile ego and captive audience, he took this opportunity to tease everyone in his path.

To the nerdy kid: “I’m giving this to you because you’re so cool.”

To me: “I’m giving this to you because you have such big boobs.”

Reader, I did later become friends with this kid—and I never let him live that moment down. But still. That comment has lived rent-free in my brain for decades.

Because that’s the thing: breasts are never just body parts. They’re magnets for attention, judgment, commentary—none of which we asked for.

Now I’m 30+ years removed from that classroom, and boobs are still in the picture—but they mean something different.

My own have fed two kids, been squashed into bridesmaid dresses, wedged into underwire, flattened for mammograms, and inappropriately ogled—much to my discomfort—more times than I can count.

I’ve had friends get breast implants. Breast reductions. Breast infections. Breast cancer.

I’ve watched them navigate joy, loss, healing, and identity—all from the chest up.

Which is why this week’s Roar episode felt so important.

I talked to Shaney Jo Darden, someone who’s spent 25 years using art, community, and creativity to start life-saving conversations about boobs and breast health through Keep a Breast Foundation.

She’s made casts of real, perfectly imperfect breasts. Built bold education campaigns. Created tools that help people actually take action.

Her work makes breast health visible—bright, beautiful, and sometimes even sparkly.

But beneath all that color is something really serious: a reminder to know your body. To talk about it. To pay attention.

And honestly, I can’t think of a better reason to take our boobs seriously.

🎤 [You can listen to that conversation here.]

Talk soon,

Danielle

P.S. If you’ve ever thought, “Danielle deserves a coffee for this,” you can make that dream a reality [right here]. Your support helps fuel the storytelling—and the caffeine.

P.P.S. Know someone who’d laugh/cringe/relate to this one? Feel free to forward it their way. Boobs: the original community builder.