My parents bought me my dream body

Standing in front of the changing-room mirror, zipping up a pair of size 12 slim-fitting jeans, I should have been marvelling at just how far I had come.

It’d been a dream to get to this size, and I’d worked so hard. Only, now a thick, puckered apron of skin hung from my tummy, and if I didn’t tuck it in, it flapped uncomfortably over my waistband. I had to hide it under floaty tops and forgiving waistbands – and while on the outside I looked great, underneath I looked awful. I was just as miserable as I had been at 21st.

For as long as I could remember, I’d been in a war against my body. As a teenager