What it's like to go clothes shopping as a recovered bulimic
I found myself staring at the brightly coloured bikinis and gauzy cover-ups on the hanger, my naked body reflected in the mirror under unflattering lights. I was short of breath. Beads of sweat rolled down my lower back despite the frigid temperature of the store. It had been fifteen years since I last spent time in a dressing room, modelling unfamiliar clothes in a somewhat unfamiliar body. And yet, I still find myself overwhelmed by the seemingly simple act of picking out a bathing suit.