Twelve years ago, my husband took this photo of me taking a picture on a beach in Ireland. I found it last night in an album in the attic while looking for another photo. I haven’t looked at the album in many years and I was struck by the girl I saw. It was like stepping back in time. I miss some things about the trip and her, but I don’t miss the unhealthy obsession I had with being so very thin.
In this photo, I am 25 years old, and I am almost 30 pounds lighter than I am now. At 5′ 5″, size 0 clothes hung from my body and I often bought children’s jeans. And while this is natural for some, I had to work very hard to stay this weight; my body fought me at every turn and so, I did it in ways that weren’t healthy. I watched every single thing I ate on that trip (and always) and often, I didn’t eat at all. I took all the right supplements and sometimes a diet pill. I worked out religiously. And while I was thinner and more in shape than I am now, it was actually an obsession and it spanned the decade of my 20s. I never felt like I looked thin enough. The inner critic was so strong even then, even at the weight I thought I needed to be.