I was 12 years old in ballet class when my teacher walked over, pushed her hand into to my stomach and said, "You must be eating too much of your parent's food." My parents owned a deli. Thirty years later those words still echo in my mind. Puberty sent me transitioning into junior's clothing. I remember trying on a size 3, then size 5, and finally having to settle with a size 7 that required three inches of hemming. I wasn't a fat girl; the term was chunky.
Another image buried in memories includes returning from a family vacation with the grandparents where we ate out every day consuming grilled cheese sandwiches and our afternoon ice cream treat. My mom commented on how much weight I gained. I knew I had a "problem."