About a month ago, I had a shock when I visited Costa and was confronted with a menu listing the caloric content of everything on sale. It marred what I was hoping would be an enjoyable afternoon out, triggering a series of eating disordered thoughts. I found myself comparing my body to those of other women in the cafe. She's so much skinnier than me. I should eat less.
As a teenager, I was treated in hospital for anorexia nervosa. I remember being so obsessed with controlling my calorie intake that I asked my dietician whether it's possible to absorb calories from using lip balm. Now in my mid-twenties, I consider myself recovered. I regularly eat mayonnaise, for God's sake.
The days of being hostage to calorie-counting are long behind me. Or are they?
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