I was hunting around through my photos looking for something today and came across the real reason I want to lose weight. (The diet is going pretty well, by the way. I’m about 6 pounds lighter already).

I started modelling when I was 13, doing fashion runway stuff for a local designer in Barbados. He’d have these fashion shows at a club/bar/tourist hangout that I frequented a lot. (Yes, I know I was 13. I was raised by bartenders, what can I say.)

When we moved to the U.S., I got approached to do some modelling. I never really got into it, partly because of self-confidence issues, partly because the whole thing scared me (and creeped me out when I had to take my undies off for a shoot because my panty-line showed), and partly because I felt it was just wrong to perpetuate the myth that 40-year-old women are supposed to look like 15-year-old girls who look like they’re 25 (that was me) and who were starving themselves to look like clothes hangars.

Because that’s what you do.

So I was around 128 lbs when I was 15 (and 5’8″ already) and every time my handler/manager person would see me, she’d praise my showing cheekbones (and hip bones) and tell me to lose just a few more pounds. Here’s the result (remember, I was 15 and not wearing any underwear).

sil19-small SIL12 My theory is that I’ve become fixated on this unreachable (unhealthy) number. And no amount of slimness will quite satisfy me. But I’m working on that. I know it’s silly and unreasonable and unrealistic. And I’m working those things out in my head. My realistic, really-I’m-going-to-be-happy-with-this, weight is the one where I fit comfortably into the clothes I already own. About 6 pounds from now. And that magic number is nowhere near 128.