Post Image Molded-cup bras used to scare me. In their early days, let's face it: they too closely resembled padded bras and heaven knows, I never needed one of those. I refused to buy one because I was afraid of my underthings becoming obvious to the casual observer.

In all fairness, those of us who are top-heavy are generally more concerned about this since our - um - bounty is front and center and very hard to miss. For some of us, our double blessings enter a room several moments before the rest of us...perhaps that is a slight exaggeration, but it sure feels that way at times!

In light of all this, it is completely unnecessary to attempt to draw additional attention. I cite the inevitable food deposits on the front of my shirt and the magnetic power those leftovers weild upon the eyes as proof. Unmentionables designed for enhancement are just not appealing.

So, I was in a popular plus-size store this past Christmas and there was a sale on bras. I had always been amused and mystified that some 80% of this shops's bra selection was of the molded-cup variety. For Pete's sake, some of those things are large enough to swaddle six-month-old twins, why on earth would a woman in her right mind want to enhance a bust that required nine yards of fabric just for basic coverage?!

Because there are many busty women who knew something I didn't.

You see, bras were on sale that day so, I extracted a seafoam-green molded-cup balconette from the crowded rack and snuck off to a dressing room. The lady in the next room was trying on bras, too, with lots of whoops and hollers. I rolled my eyes silently and wrangled myself into my pick.

I looked in the mirror and was instantly struck full-force in the kisser by a giant epiphany.

Mother Nature is not kind and neither is her primary spawn: Gravity. In fact, Gravity seems to target the girth-challenged in the most undignified manner.

But, there I was: grinning ear to ear and turning like a ballerina in a pink jewelry box. Donning that molded-cup bra was as good as shoving a double-barreled shotgun in Gravity's impish little face. My girls were lifted to regions so far North that I don't think they'd been that high since I hit puberty. I'd looked so disproportionate for so long with my poor girls looking like they were trying to hide my belly button. Those molded cups not only didn't make me look huge, they actually made all of me look smaller.

Just like that I was shrieking and trading recommendations with the nutty lady in the next room as we ransacked the clearance section.

Bottom line: support is vital. This is true of both bras and Weight Watchers. Sometimes our support comes from places we don't expect. However, there is one major difference here that I would like to point out:

While we all need support in our weight-loss, we frankly shouldn't need a cheering section to keep us On Plan. Our support is there for when we need it, which shouldn't be every day (unlike our bras). If we are relying on our families to keep us motivated, steer us clear of temptations, eat things they don't like and rejoice over the .1 pounds we lost every single day, then please know that we are expecting waaaay too much.

We are making the decision to change our lifestyle. Not to change theirs to the same extent without their consent.

Let's be independent, my friends! Work with our families so that their support is there for our tough days and pull on our big girl panties for the rest of the time! We can do this! Lets remember that everyone needs support, but that even if we are technically in a wheelchair, we all have our "own two feet" to stand on! Don't expect others to become your legs and your willpower. We might be weak, but we won't get stronger without practice!