Hello. My name is Matilda and I’m a size six.

You see me every day. You see me eat carrots and apples and bananas. Liver pâté on rye with cucumber. I can drink a beer with you. But do you see me sucking in my tummy? Really, do you? I honestly don’t know.

I talk to you. I try anyways. I am socially awkward because I feel fat, but I do my best to overcome that. Do you like me, really? Do you know me? Would you like me if you knew that I cry while eating an entire box of chocolate cookies? Do you know that I beg my partner to understand how fat I feel, I beg him to be my police officer and my cheerleader and just help me not turn to food?

I tell myself I am fine. I meditate, do yoga, hiking and kick-boxing.

But what did I eat today? For breakfast: two pieces of cake, 100 grams of liquorice, 100 grams of marzipan. Snack: banana. Lunch: rye bread with liver pâté . Some hard candy, maybe 10 pieces. 2 beers. (From snack to lunch I was surrounded by people). Snack: 1 pizza, 1 beer, more marzipan, 4 scoops of ice cream with 7 strawberries, dry roasted cashews. Dinner: 4 beers and a bag of microwave popcorn. Midnight snack: kebabs.

It’s all far more than my little tummy can handle.

Sometimes I go home early to eat and I see myself through your eyes, and I don’t know how you can stand me. How can you look at this big fat blob and not turn your head in disgust?

I have been Miss Chicken-and-olives. I have been Miss Run-twice-a-week. And I have fit into a size two (and I never felt better). So why am I now someone who eats two rolls of Oreos before I even brush my teeth in the morning?


I wish I could introduce my mother to the Hunger Games. My mother fought her body her entire life. I watch her struggle into her jeans the way I now struggle into mine. I don’t think my weight is her fault, but she is responsible for making it feel like a battle. I do not have a strong mentality and I can only fight one battle at a time.

One deadline is all I can focus on. I’m starting to realize that I cannot compartmentalize my life. That all my emotions and everything I have to remember will all have to be in my head at the same time. And that makes me want to eat.

And – while food is one level of my life that makes me feel better – there’s no beer that can take that away my responsibilities, no gummy bear big enough to push my deadlines. I know that I have to accept that. I can’t keep eating my food clockwise on my plate. I have to accept that sometimes the potatoes will touch the peas. Sometimes, even someone I love will taint the middle of my plate by putting the piece of meat there.

But still, it’s comforting that you can pour all the M&M’s on the table and sort them into color before you eat them. Cookies come neatly stacked. You can buy candy sorted by color, by flavour, and by type.

I am working on a big project with multiple deadlines. It makes me order pizza. It makes me worried, so I can’t sleep at night. I can’t sleep at all really, So I comfort myself with popcorn while reading the lines over and over again trying to find the mistake. I worry. I eat ice cream.

Hello. My name is Matilda and I’m a size six.