I was very thin throughout my childhood and teens — I didn’t develop a shape until I was about 22. I had gotten used to living in a thin body, and I absolutely did benefit from all the bullshit that comes along with that.
But one day, as an intern in college at CosmoGirl! Magazine, I remember being excluded (along with other interns with slightly larger bodies) from a to-be-published staff photo spread. When the spread was published, all the girls in the shot were small — small enough to notice their not-bigness. It was the first time I felt “othered,” the first time I noticed how some versions of thin weren’t thin enough. Never mind those interns who were larger than a size 6.
During this time, the fashion industry, I think, was still struggling with depicting bodies of all sizes as beautiful. One day, they brought us into a conference room and showed us how they'd added weight to a model's picture, making her thigh look slightly bigger. It was an early, early incarnation of body parity in fashion, but its execution was poor. I was young and pretty uninformed about sizeism at that time, but even I knew there was something off about that.
At 26, I was diagnosed with Uveitis, a chronic, deeply painful eye inflammation condition that nearly stopped my life for almost a year. Caused by an autoimmune disorder (Ankylosing spondylitis) that reared its ugly little head through my eyes, I went through a lot to stop the pain — seeing doctor after doctor for opinion, sitting in the dark for months, spending untold amounts of money on medication.