My father died of a heart attack when I was three years old. I went to sleep with a father, and by the time I woke, I no longer had one. My mother, in her grief, subsequently removed all traces of him. There were no photos on bookshelves; no fond holiday remembrances. Asking "What was Daddy like?" drew a vacant response: "He's gone. It doesn't pay to talk about it." What I learned…

Body Image: I Love How I Look -- In a World that Doesn't

I love my body.

When I say this, I frequently hear lots of clapping and even cheers. I give talks across the country about my personal recovery from an eating disorder, and people in the audience are often fed up (no pun intended) with assaults against women's bodies. It is not often that we actually hear someone say, "I love my body."…