Fat and Spotty until 40

That was me.

Becoming confident isn’t something that happens overnight. And, for me, it took four decades and the rest to feel comfortable in my skin.

I was a happy kid. I was constantly giggling (much to my father’s annoyance) and liked to retreat to my bedroom, sit with a doll’s house, and create stories. I enjoyed entertaining my parents' friends, so I’ve been told by singing. I liked riding my bike to Jones Beach on Long Island. My mother, who taught home economics at the local high school, taught me how to cook and sew, and we often made clothes together for me to wear.

I moved to London when I was thirteen in 1974. Initially, it was supposed to be for a year, but it ended up being for the rest of my life, save for four years when I had to return to the U.S. to finish my American education. Moving to the U.K. in the seventies was exciting, and I immersed myself in the culture here, spending many evenings enjoying concerts or fringe theatre in my mid-teens. I lived a very privileged life as an American in London, where I was a novelty. My dad had a good job working for a bank, and, as a result, I could travel to exotic countries such as Kenya, for instance, when that was a rarity. My mother also worked, having gone back to school to obtain a marketing degree and, as a result, landed her dream job working for a large white goods company as their marketing manager.