There was a point in my childhood where I would have been more excited, so excited that I memorably bounced up and down on a sofa… and broke the sofa. This was followed by a stern telling off before I desperately became worried on this Christmas eve, aged 6 years old, that I was too fat. Why else would the sofa have broken? Shortly after finding myself under heavy worry about my body, one afternoon I sat on the back seat of a taxi staring down at my little legs in stripy leggings, wondering why my thighs squished out wider when i sat down. I didn’t like them.