Why Won’t My Daughter Wear Her Bra? An Investigation Into Puberty, Parenting, and Doing It Awkwardly
This just in: The boobs are coming.
That was essentially the breaking news in my house this morning.
My daughter and I were getting ready, and I said, “Olivia, you’ve got to wear a bra.”
Her response was an immediate, “No!”
I tried again. “You need to wear it. Your boobs are coming.” And suddenly, in my head, this became a full-scale emergency news report:
THIS JUST IN: THE BOOBS ARE COMING! THE BOOBS ARE COMING!
I pictured giant boob mountains chasing my daughter through the house while she ran screaming, “NO! STOP! I’M NOT READY!”
Welcome to puberty. And welcome to parenting puberty, which I’m learning is perhaps equally awkward.
Why Won’t My Daughter Wear a Bra?
The whole exchange made me curious: Why won’t my daughter wear her bra? Is this normal? Is she particularly resistant? Was I like this at her age?
That last question stopped me, because the truth is, I don’t really remember fighting with my mom about bras. But there’s a pretty obvious reason for that.
I was mostly raised by a single dad.
I saw my mom about every other Saturday, so most of the everyday growing-up stuff happened with my dad. And my dad did his best, but he was a single father raising daughters.
If I wore a bra, great. If I didn’t wear a bra, also pretty much fine. He might tell me, “You probably need to wear one,” but ultimately I was figuring a lot of this stuff out myself.
Turns Out, I Wasn’t That Different as a Kid
And when I really started investigating my own childhood, I realized:
Oh, I absolutely resisted taking care of my changing body. It just looked different.
For me, it was my hair.
I have ridiculously curly hair, and brushing it hurt.
So I simply refused.
I would refuse and refuse until eventually my hair became so tangled and matted that my sister would have to sit with me and slowly, tediously, painfully work through it.
This happened for years.
Eventually, around sixth or seventh grade, boys started noticing me, and apparently that was the motivation required for me to think, Fine. I guess I should figure out this hair situation.
So perhaps my daughter and I aren’t actually that different.
And when it came to bras, I definitely didn’t have everything figured out.
I still remember going to a show choir camp at Disney World in high school. I was dancing onstage, having the time of my life, apparently unaware that my boobs had decided to become backup dancers.
This just in: Your boobs are out of control!
Finally, a woman pulled me aside and told me she had bought two bras for me.
I was going to wear one bra and then another one over it, because I was not going back on that stage without significantly more boob containment.
I was shocked.
Not because I didn’t know I should wear a bra. I was wearing one.
I simply didn’t know what kind of support my body needed while I was dancing.
Nobody had taught me.
Looking back, there are parts of that story that are funny. There are also parts that hurt.
The Things I Wish I Could Have Asked My Mom
There were things about becoming a woman that I wish I could have talked through with my mom.
Because of my parents’ divorce and the way my childhood was structured, I didn’t have much access to her. There were times I wasn’t able to call her or ask the kinds of questions a girl might want to ask her mom.
There was real damage in that for me.
I can’t change that childhood, but I can decide what I do with it.
Parenting My Daughter Is Giving Me a Second Chance
One of the unexpected gifts of raising my own daughter has been getting to walk beside her through some of the things I largely figured out alone.
I get to take her bra shopping.
I get to answer the weird questions.
I get to hear “NO!” when she absolutely does not want to put the bra on.
And apparently, I get to spend my mornings pretending giant boob mountains are attacking us.
I’ll take it.
Because I don’t need to make puberty perfectly comfortable for her.
Puberty isn’t comfortable.
Bodies change.
Hair grows in weird places.
Periods start.
Breasts develop.
Crushes happen.
Sexual feelings eventually emerge.
Kids start asking questions that make even sex therapists think, Okay, how exactly am I going to answer this one?
There isn’t a magical script that removes all of that awkwardness.
Puberty Is Awkward. That’s Okay.
Parents ask me all the time, “How do I talk to my kids about sex?”
My answer is surprisingly simple: awkwardly.
Talk about it awkwardly.
Try the sentence even though you don’t know exactly how to say it.
Answer the question even if you stumble.
Admit when you’re uncomfortable.
Laugh when something is funny.
Tell them when you don’t know the answer.
Then go find the answer together.
And keep doing it.
Because eventually, the conversation that once felt terrifying becomes a little more familiar.
Then your kid gets older and asks an entirely new question that makes you uncomfortable all over again.
Congratulations!
You’re parenting.
How Do I Talk to My Kids About Sex?
We don’t need to eliminate awkwardness from conversations about puberty, bodies, boundaries, consent, relationships, or sex.
We need to teach our kids that awkwardness isn’t a reason to stop talking.
That’s actually one of the things I’m building next: courses for parents who want help talking with their kids about sex, puberty, bodies, boundaries, and consent without turning every conversation into an incredibly uncomfortable family health lecture.
I want them to be playful, practical, and easy enough that real parents can actually use them with real kids.
Teach Kids That Awkward Doesn’t Mean We Stop Talking
Because I don’t think our children need parents who know exactly what to say.
They need parents who are willing to keep having the conversation.
I can’t guarantee that talking openly with our kids means they’ll never struggle, make mistakes, feel embarrassed, or yell “NO!” when we ask them to put on a bra.
But maybe we can give them something many of us didn’t have: a place to bring the awkward questions, a parent who won’t disappear when the conversation gets uncomfortable, and the knowledge that their changing body isn’t something scary that they have to figure out alone.
Even when the boobs are coming.
This just in: We’re going to be okay.
Parents, Want to Learn More?
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