I grew up listening to stories about relatives pretending to bite my chunky baby thighs because they looked like drumsticks and my mother's constant reminders that she weighed 80 pounds when she got pregnant with me. As an eight-year-old I stood five feet tall and wore my mother's jeans because it was cheaper than taking me shopping in the women's petite section. I was binge eating while hiding in the pantry before I knew that the term even existed. And I was a full-fledged bulimic by the time I was 15.