I've been on a diet my whole life. My mother joked that I came out of her womb hungry for a cheeseburger, and I've been struggling with my Viking-sized appetite ever since. Always the largest among my circle of girlfriends, I never thought much about what I was eating — or how much — until I was 12 and started noticing boys. Suddenly, the salty snacks the Charlie's Chips truck delivered weekly weren't as appealing as the popular body suits all the girls wore with their corduroys.
Thanks to Twiggy's skinny frame glossing magazine covers, my older sisters constantly dieted. The message was clear; society equated skinniness with happiness and success, and a woman's worth depended on her appearance. So, I followed my sister's example, surviving on dry Melba toast and Tab for rapid weight loss.
Of course, I dropped 10 pounds in a few days and proudly shoved myself into the sausage-like casing of a pink leotard. This worked for two weeks until I heard the siren call of McDonald's French fries during our weekly teen Bible study group. While my friends were handing out Bible tracts at the mall, I chowed Big Macs down with the Hamburglar.
At 15, the grapefruit diet was all the rage, so I jumped on the citrus fruit bandwagon, hoping the enzymes would melt the fat off my belly. It worked for a while, but only because I spent a great deal of time in the bathroom. To this day, the sight of grapefruit makes my stomach automatically clench into intestinal war mode.
Then came all the liquid protein shakes and energy bars when I was 18 and the popular Scarsdale Diet that promised I'd lose "20 pounds in 14 days." I tortured myself with these fad diets, convinced that sacrificing calories was worth fitting into a tight pair of jeans to make my butt look good.
Why was I so obsessed with dieting? It came down to low self-image and a desperate need to attract boys. I had my share of body shaming growing up and longed to shop in the petite section where all the cool clothes were. Instead, I was relegated to the plus size section, where every outfit resembled a gunny sack from Little House on the Prairie.