A few years ago I caught a black cab home from town. It was a Friday night and I was wearing my black suit jacket and flippy knee-length skirt and my favourite top; a coral coloured camisole. I always got compliments when I wore the coral top. It was summer, and I was high on life and champagne and on being so fucking AWAKE in my own life. The route home was snarled and I got talking to the cabbie; we shared our mutual stories of heartbreak and woe. And something in me just snapped. I made him promise that from now on we wouldn’t tell those stories; we wouldn’t let the shitty horribleness define us. We would create new stories. There was a tangible shift in my head and my body: suddenly there was possibility.

This is how I feel today; after the best part of thirty years of struggling with my body and my relationship to food, something has dislodged itself from my brain. I am kind of stunned at the changes I have been able to make in such a short time, so much so that I almost don’t want to believe it.

I have become conscious of my body, of what it needs: I am eating consciously when I am hungry, enjoying flavours and tastes. I am keeping a record of everything I eat, and I am eating the calories my body needs. I don’t feel deprived, I don’t feel anxious. I am interested in food – Whats in it? Where did it come from? How is this made? I want to stock up the cupboards and experiment with vegetables (not dirty). In two weeks, I have lost 3.8 kilos.

So this is the start of my new story. I’ll be updating you with my progress, the inevitable crappy days, and the learnings along the way. Thank you for your comments, emails, tweets and facebook messages of support over the last few weeks. You guys totally rock.

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