I can trace every romance of my life back to a meal. My memories are enhanced by the tender morsels had at tables across from lovers, on blankets with friends who'd eventually become more, in banquets, barbecues, and breakfasts.

Women in our generation, we were taught we can be and do anything as long as we work hard. But you can't work hard enough for two people.

The times in my life when I've been my thinnest, I've been a walking psycho wreck. Forget the fact that I was basically starving myself skinny was usually due to some kind of loss. Death. Rejection. Divorce.

I already knew to eat clean and listen to my body, to only eat when I was in a calm mental state. Everyone knew. But when you're fat in the head, it's never about knowing the answers. It's about living them.

People can say you're fat because you're filling a void, or you eat for all these emotional reasons. I said, 'I don't need to focus on this anymore. It doesn't matter why I'm fat. Let's fix it.

Don't be so damn hard on yourself. Yeah, you screwed up. You're not perfect, fine. Learn from it. But don't punish yourself. Be kind to you, even when you screw up. You'll bounce back eventually. You'll make up for it.

If someone wants to lead a double life, they will find a way to do it. And they can promise you things until your nerves unfold and you can finally put up your feet. But it can all be a lie. There are no guarantees, even when people mean what they say at the time. People change their minds. People die. And the hurt is as real as a baseball bat.

I spent my whole single life trying to be thin just to find someone who'd love me once I got fat.

I hated the reflection in the mirror. I wanted so much to be someone else... I thought that if I was thinner, the rest of my life would change.

I could stand to lose 10 or 15 pounds, but honestly, I'm happy the way I am. I feel comfortable with it. I'd rather have that extra 10, 15 pounds on me than live a lifestyle of trying to sustain this unattainable weight.

There's something almost perfect in the ugly duckling syndrome. Because a sensitivity is tattooed on a part of you no one else can see but can somehow guess is there.

The way I see it, love is an amusement park, and food its souvenir.

When we die, no one remembers us for what we weighed. Our weight isn't etched into our headstones.

Stop caring what other people think. How? Understand that this is your life, not theirs, and you'll have no one to blame but yourself if things don't work out the way you'd hoped...their opinion shouldn't matter more than your own.

That's the thing about being a former fat camp champ: when asked if I'd change my past if I could, I always answer no. The pain of being an overweight kid, the humiliation, make you think twice before ever cutting anyone else down.