I spent high school and my early 20s rigorously yo-yo dieting, over-exercising, and popping diet pills. Despite this fixation, I was able to excel professionally and after years of working in the trenches of PR, I finally fulfilled my dream of moving to Los Angeles to work for an amazing global agency. I should have been excited to start my career and life in my new city. But nothing took precedence over my full-time obsession. I compared my body to other women's, I aimed for lower numbers on the scale, and I focused on changing specific parts of my body that simply wouldn't be altered.

Calorie-counting got me closer to my goal, but even at my smallest I was unhappy — as unhappy as I was at my normal size. There was always something I needed to improve: I wanted my 32DDD breasts to shrink and perk up, and my muscular thighs to stop fighting over space when I walked. A normal person may recognise this as insanity, but this was my normal.

Still, I was miserable. I was a single girl in a great city, and every time I went to dinner, I sat in fear of veering off of my plan and eating the wrong thing. I would spend all day restricting, then inevitably binge. One day, the pain in my bulging stomach led me to my first purge. I wish I could say I felt shame, horror, or disgust, but it was the exact opposite. I was relieved. Now I understood that if I fell off my hamster wheel of dieting, I could reverse any damage done. I didn't see bulimia as the violent act of self-harm that it is. It was my quick fix.

Meanwhile, I never asked myself why I wanted to be thin so badly. After all, I'd come to terms with other parts of my body — the faint stretch marks on my breasts and hips, my large hands and feet. Still, my mind insisted that other bodies were right and mine was wrong. Being occupied with self-loathing left little room to be grateful for what my body could do.

One night, I found myself at a celebratory dinner with colleagues. It should have been fun, but I was a mess. I'd been in binge mode the entire day, and figured I might as well continue eating since my diet was already ruined. Halfway through the meal, I excused myself to the bathroom to ease my discomfort and purge. I was used to purging in public places and managed to always get in and out without attracting any attention. But suddenly, I heard a woman's voice outside the stall.

"Oh no, dear," she said, with pity in her voice.

"Fuck off," I muttered, pulled myself together, and went back to dinner. She may have thought I had a problem, but I still didn't.