The Skinny Myth

A 20-year obsession with staying slim kept Alix O’Neill trapped in a cycle of deprivation and reward. But pregnancy shook up her perception of perfection – and her sense of self

I was expecting tears of elation. This was the moment I’d spent the best part of a year waiting for, but as I gaped at the pregnancy test in my hand, the happiness I felt was diluted by other emotions. There was panic I’d unwittingly harmed the baby after a boozy weekend, doubt I was cut out for such an enormous responsibility, and an element of fear – fear of losing myself and my body to motherhood.

Thinness has been my thing for much of my adult life. I wore skinny like a favourite pair of jeans. Tiny breasts and a well-defined clavicle were comfortable, a second skin. Growing up, my looks didn’t come into the equation. A spirited kid with big dreams, I was going to be a playwright, an author, an FBI agent (lack of American citizenship wasn’t going to stand in my way). But as I entered my teenage years, everything seemed less certain. Humility was the ethos at my convent secondary school. Sure, you could have ambition – within reason. When I demonstrated an aptitude for French, I was rebuked for showing off, while my English teacher smirked when I told her I planned to be a writer.