I was 16 when I bought diet pills online.
They arrived in an anonymous white bottle in a brown envelope, promising to contain some kind of miracle medicine that would have me shedding pounds left, right and centre.
I knew the risks of buying purported diet pills online – at best, they were tiny capsules of grey dust, at worst, filled with something much more harmful – but I was simply that desperate.
I had the rock bottom confidence of a teenage girl who wasn’t naturally skinny, so the lure of a quick fix far outweighed the thought of potentially harming or even killing myself in my quest to be thin.
Ludicrous to look back on? Absolutely. But such was the pressure I felt to be skinny back in the 00s.
And while I’d hoped this toxic body culture was firmly a thing of the past, recently I’ve been horrified to see the resurgence of ‘skinny’, ‘heroin chic’ and extreme ‘starvemaxxing’ trends roaring back onto the scene.
We must fight to stop this cycle repeating itself.
As far back as I can remember I’d always been aware of my stomach. I’m not sure exactly when it started but I have a vivid memory of sitting in our tiny boarding school kitchen in Year Seven with friends, when a Year Eight girl asked us how many rolls our stomachs made when we sat down.
We lifted our tops up to examine the rolls on our 11-year-old tummies and when she came to me, she said: ‘Oh, I have less than you’.
For a long time after, my stomach was something I believed I needed to be rid of and so I went through intense periods of set exercise routines and fad diets.
I ditched carbs, ditched fats, tried any variety of odd combinations from the cabbage diet, or having one sad little packet soup a day, to eating lunches composed of black coffee, a weighed handful of Brazil nuts and some raw mushrooms. Looking back, even I think that was a particularly odd one.
Because I drank so much black coffee I was permanently jittery and sweating and always snappy from hunger.
On holiday with family and friends I’d spend time doing sit ups in the corner of my room, desperate for abs to appear overnight. I’d also spend hours in the gym, doing a strict routine of cardio and weights, which I loved but which didn’t tone me as I wanted because I wasn’t eating enough to build muscle.
And yet, I wasn’t anorexic – drinking and loosening my grip on my diet during the weekends made sure of that. Instead, I was just someone permanently unhappy with her body image.
But because I didn’t face the horrific struggles some people did, looking at me you might never have known I felt actual hatred towards my stomach and thighs.
That’s why I’d bought the pills. I was so desperate and willing to believe the scam website that I was convinced it would be my miracle cure – a quick fix.
I hoped I’d take them and the weight would fall off – if not overnight then within a week. The dream was that I would be instantly happy with my appearance.
Understandably, when my parents discovered what I’d done they were furious. However, I refused to stop taking the tablets – I truly believed harming myself was a fair exchange for prominent hip bones and a concave stomach.
The only way I eventually agreed to stop was when they offered to buy them off me. The lure of getting my £40 back (a lot of money for teenage me) for something I didn’t fully believe worked seemed a far better deal.
In the months and years that followed, I continued to fixate on my appearance, like the majority of teenagers and young adults around me.
I was still in search of a quick fix, and spent all my time in the gym. I restricted carbs before big events so as not to look bloated and refused to eat before nights out in case my stomach spoiled the outline of my clothes.
It was only when I read of the case of student Eloise Parry, 21, who died in 2015 after taking diet pills containing a highly toxic chemical, I shivered and thought: ‘That could have been me.’
Since then, I’ve worked incredibly hard to fall in love with my body so that I never feel pressured to make what could have been a fatal mistake again.
It’s taken a really long time and two babies to do so but I’m finally getting there.
During my pregnancies I revelled in delight at the fact my body was allowed to grow, celebrated even.
Granted, as soon as the baby arrived I began to feel the pressure for it to shrink quickly, just as my world expanded so hugely in other ways, but I wanted to promise my baby daughter that she’d never grow to hate, resent and question her own body as I had.
Finally, two years after having my second baby, my son, I’m in a place where I’m confident and content.
I’m stronger than I’ve ever been – thanks to a combination of carrying two sizeable children around and fitting in some at-home workouts when possible – without making it the main focus in my life.
I also, for the first time in my life, eat balanced meals, containing both fats and carbs as well as protein, during the week.
That’s partly because I want to make sure the children – who are now old enough to notice what I am eating and what I’m not eating – never grow to have such a battle with their own bodies or feel they have to turn to dangerous substances to feel that way.
I never want them to think one single packet soup is enough to nourish them for lunch or that the Special K diet will bring them happiness.
Instead, we talk about food giving us energy to run around and play, helping our brains, heart and bones get stronger and keeping us full and happy.
In a world that continues to equate body weight to value, I want my children to be happy and healthy and know they are worth so much more than any clothes size or number on a scale.
They are my precious creations and all I want for them is to be confident in who they are – something that should always have been enough for me.
I just hope that I’m now mentally old enough and strong enough for these reemerging toxic cultures not to creep back into my subconscious and poison my relationship with food and my body once more.
Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing jess.austin@metro.co.uk.
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