I had itchy eyes when I finished reading this post. Unlike Clare, I didn’t begin my yoyo adventure with diets in childhood, but when I was 34 and my first husband baldly declared “You really need to stop eating, you’re getting fat”. Less than a year later I had dropped from a size 14 to a 10 and we were separated. My second marriage was conversely defined by my (also now ex) husband’s weight loss issues and in the year we split up I weighed less than 9 stone. But I was the unhappiest I’d ever been during 2013 because my (ex) husband’s obsession with weight loss and exercise had caused a huge rift in our marriage and my weight loss was a result of stress and existing on coffee and toast. When I met Mr S I was again a size 10. Now I’m back to a 12/14. Am I happy? You bet your ass I am. Because I am loved, surrounded by lovely family and friends and a husband who doesn’t care what shape I am so long as I am happy. I’d love to be a 10/12 again, but I doubt it would make me any happier than I am, right here, right now. Lara, Social Media Manager

When I was about 12 years old my mum came home with a new recipe book called “Cooking to Make Kids Slim”. The front cover was a photograph of an unhappy looking plump-ish child dressed in tight shorts and a straining T-shirt, standing on a set of scales. As the podgy girl who always got picked last in PE, I completely identified with this picture, it sowed the seed that fat=sad and thin=happy and marked the beginning of my dieting journey.

Thirty-four years later and I am still trying to reach the thin=happy part of the equation. I have been on some sort of diet for most of my adult life; from mad ones that precluded all foods apart from tomatoes and Edam cheese, too-good-to-be-true ones that allowed cream, chocolate and wine, to highly expensive ones that involved weekly visits to a suspicious looking ‘clinic’ somewhere off Great Portland Street.

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