INTERNATIONAL WOMEN'S DAY, MARCH 8

GROWING up, I was surrounded by grandmas, mum, aunts, cousins, teachers and coaches who were strong confident women – go-getters who did not hesitate to love, leap or express themselves.

With such strong role models, it is no wonder I turned out the way I did – unafraid to ask questions or to talk back and almost fearless at times (to the point that my mother sometimes says I am fool-hardy).

But I would rather think I am independent and independent-minded so perhaps that is why I gravitate to like-minded friends who take crap from no one.

Yet I believe that strong women can have their vulnerable moments too, especially when it comes to their Achilles' heel.

Mine was my weight. Actually it still is.

A deep-rooted fear of becoming fat, and the just-as-deeply-rooted guilt about enjoying food, have long been a part of my life.

Since the age of 10, I was really conscious of my weight. After all, who has ever heard of a fat ballerina?

So at 13, when a well-meaning relative said my well-rounded grandmother’s genes had skipped a generation, I made up my mind to be in control. I stopped eating.

The common perception of anorexia and bulimia sufferers is that they have brought the problem upon themselves by trying to get a fashionably slender figure.

But the causes of eating disorders are far more complex.

I can remember being the Houdini of food then – often tossing my lunch or dinner into the rubbish chute.

At school, I would not eat during break and would inform my teachers on days where there was extra curricular activities that I had lunch waiting for me at home.

As long as the food disappeared from my immediate surroundings I felt better. By then, I became mindful of a connection between food and my need for control.

Being a TV journalist in my young adult life did not help my situation either. On TV, every kilogramme I put on seemed to be amplified by the TV cameras.

The highly stressful nature of the job fueled that fire. Yes, I love the adrenalin rush. It was the not being in control that I hated.

My need for control returned and being on the job almost 24/7, I had the freedom to eat nothing and not have it noticed.

With a disposal income on top of that, I started my trips on slimming pills – hydroxcut, ephedrine, caffeine...you name it.

This was intoxicating and egged me to continue my quest for perfection. I slept less, worked more and utilised these distractions to carry me further.

I want to believe I am now over being obsessed with my weight, but can one ever be?

I hit the gym at every lunch time except Wednesday and the weekend but there are still days when the qipao does not fit or when that pair of jeans cuts off circulation to my legs.

So hmmm; where did I leave that bottle of Superdrine?