Two nights ago, my 10-year-old daughter, Tish, who is a younger version of me (in every wonderful, terrifying way) sat on my bed and said with a shaky voice, "Mama, the other girls are all skinny. Why am I different?"
I stared at her and silently lost my mind. Ten is when I noticed my differentness, too. Ten is when I decided there was something wrong with me and became bulimic. My life became a total shit storm for the next 20 years. And as I sat on that bed with my baby, I swear to you I became 10 again. It all rushed back and I froze. I just froze. I could not think of one helpful word to say. Even though it is my entire job to think of something helpful to say.
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