I used to hate food. When I was in my pre-teens & up until now I struggle with the topic.I believe it truly began when I was first introduced to junk food. Growing up in Los Angeles, California, my parents who were teens with little to no money, often struggled to put food on the table. As a result I’ve always felt like if I ate too much I was taking away from the family. In this household it was common to buy outside food rather than organic produce, especially because it was cheaper. But cheaper doesn’t always mean better. I began to gain weight rapidly, until I noticed I was noticeably larger than my peers the realization hit when I moved up to Oregon. Obesity seems normal down in the south. I blamed food for all my problems whether it was acne, oily hair, my fat thighs or my stomach- I began to slowly hate myself. The mere thought of “fat” grossed me out. I began to cut out meals from my day, no breakfast meant no lunch, especially snacking, and then only dinner. My anorexia took hold of me and no one noticed my over-exercising & sudden loss of appetite. That was until my mother saw me put back chicken & rice when everyone was grabbing seconds. The jig was up and nothing was getting passed my concerned mother questioning my recent drop in pant sizes from nearly a 16 to a 9. Throughout these last years, rehabilitation and my relationship with food have improved to a healthy standard.