Age 42

When I was 13, the boys taunted me about my upturned nose. They called me "Miss Piggy" and it devastated me. I begged my mother for a nose job for my birthday, but she would just get angry and tell me they were jerks and to ignore them. I was much too sensitive to ignore them and so my depression grew. A few years later, when I was 18 and trying very hard to be as pretty as I could be, a car drove by me, full of those same boys and they yelled out, "You're still ugly!" My anguish led me to toy with the idea of suicide. I felt too ugly to live. When I was 24, after another insult was thrown at me, I finally got a nose job. At first I felt completely different. I thought my life was changed forever, but it wasn't. I still felt ugly. At 34 I was diagnosed with BDD, put on Prozac and ordered to stop mirror checking. I have since gained 50 pounds, but mostly don't care about how I look. Other things occupy my thoughts now. But I still don't feel pretty, and I still wish I was.

Age 32

My earliest memory of my body was feeling shame because I knew I was bigger than all the other girls my age. That feeling has never left me, despite the fact that I am a "normal" size, although it’s hard to really say what the word normal means any more. I imagine that some women would think my body was perfect and others would think I was too big. Either way, I have fought like hell to regain my self esteem and love myself. I now can say from an intellectual level that my body is normal, but the feeling of shame is something that is burned into my being. It’s an old wound, that despite years of healing, still bears its mark on my soul the way a scar will forever stay on a person's skin.

In my short 32 years, I have struggled with a 13 year eating disorder; been on every diet known to man; spent countless dollars (I imagine it is far into the thousands at this point) on products designed to make me believe I would love myself more once I consumed them; and wasted more time than I care to imagine hating my body for being something other than what it was. My body image has consumed me to the point that I can say it has probably gotten more attention than anything else in my life. That statement makes me sad just writing it.

I am not unlike any of you. If you met me you would find me "normal", with a good job, a nice home and a nice family. I am a typical American woman...and I am angry that I have abandoned myself in search of being "perfect." There are times I think this struggle is something I will live with for a lifetime, but if that is the case, then I am willing to fight. I will fight because with each passing year I am tired, and I am ready to finally love myself for being alive and being strong enough to put up with the senseless crap we women have to endure just to feel "good enough." I hope everyone reading this is fighting too. Hopefully, we can make small steps towards change.

Age 22

I'm 5'3" and 125lbs - and I hate it. My sister is two years older, one inch taller and twenty pounds lighter.

Growing up, I was the "thick" or "solid" of the two. My sister and I were nearly identical, even mistaken for one another in high school, except for our weight.

I know I'm not fat, but I've got these hideous saddle-bag thighs! I hate them. My love handles are kinda sexy, though.

Then comes the boobs. My weight once reached around 135, and then dropped back to 120-125. And in the process, my boobs deflated and now resemble balloons half filled with water, just hanging from chest. I can even hold a pencil in the fold beneath them.

IN CLOTHES, I look alright. But naked, I feel sick. I see old paintings in museums of nude women: elegant and curvy. Today's women are stick-thin. I wish REAL women could be considered beautiful. Then maybe I could look in the mirror without shame.

Age 27

I was first told I was fat by my sister and father. My father liked really skinny girls. He once told my husband on the phone that his favorite females were 13 or 14, "just blooming." My husband got off the phone shaken and disturbed. When he told me, I said "I told you so." My father is part of the reason we have yet to have children.

My father has an eating disorder himself. He goes through binge/starve cycles and has always been obsessed with his weight. As kids, he rationed our food and told us what to eat. He didn't keep much food for us in the house. I think these years played a huge role in me developing an eating disorder. There were many days I ate less than 400 - 600 calories. For a time, I was also bulimic. Bulimia was private, whereas fat was out there for everyone to see and judge you.

I feel I stunted my growth. I am 5'3" and the same height as both my grandmothers who grew up during the Depression and then WWII rationing. I think I could have been taller, healthier and more proportionate had I eaten properly in my formative years. I think I may have weakened my heart putting my body through too much stress and not eating properly.

Age 50

"Your thighs are getting too big, better watch it."

"Your grandmother was built like you, she fought it all her life."

I understand now that these things were important to women during the depression, and my parents were trying to be helpful, but it made such a HUGE impression on me. I have learned to accept my muscular thighs and small waist - it is hard to find jeans that fit, and I have never found a pair comfortable. Now that I have been living with M.S. for 10 years and have trouble walking sometimes, my strong thighs are part of what is keeping me upright.

Age 18

As a middle school girl, my mother and I got hooked on the television show What Not To Wear, and realized that young girls can also learn how to create styles that flatter their bodies - which is even more important as their bodies change through puberty. We decided that was the key to reaching girls to show them how to be more accepting of their bodies and not respond to media hype and peer pressure. Once girls see that, they can begin to discover who they really are, learn to take care of their changing bodies and discover true role models and how to achieve their true goals. We've created a journal, How I Look Journal, vetted by the National Eating Disorders Association, that can be used by girls individually or in classes. I am now on my way to college and hope that we'll begin to see changes in how girls see themselves in my lifetime! (www.howIlookjournal.com)

Age 35

A few months ago, my parents moved from the house I grew up in and I found a pile of life drawings of naked men and women I had drawn when I was about 13 years old.

At the time, my art teacher was very encouraging but told me that some of the heads were very much out of proportion with the rest of the picture. I never understood what he meant, as I always used the head as a measure for the rest of the body.

Seeing my drawings now at 35, it is obvious that all the females I drew had heads that were 3 quarters the size they should be, making their bodies appear oversized and monstrous. The male bodies were all rendered in proportion. I was shocked to have such evidence of how distorted my views of my own and other women's bodies had been. It made me so sad for my 13-year old self, and so grateful I never have to feel that way again.

Age 24

My family would pressure me to shave my legs when I was very young, because I had to wear a skirt every day to school. I hated it and I didn't understand why I had to do it, because none of the kids ever bothered me about it. But my family told me I was too hairy, and the kids would make fun of me for being like a monkey. This was long before puberty. I had no concept of why they were so worried. Then I got older, and my hair got coarser and darker and developed in the usual spots, and still nobody bothered me about it. Only my family ever fussed over how hairy and disgusting I was. Once, a boy in high school insulted me, but that was the only time anyone ever said anything to me about it. Even my boyfriends didn't mind.

Now I'm out of school and no longer forced to wear a uniform every day. The first freedom I had upon graduating from high school was freedom from shaving my legs. I decided nobody would ever force me to wear a dress again. I didn't shave for years until I had to wear a swimsuit to go into someone's pool. I was still ashamed of how hairy and animalistic my body was, and I couldn't just go out in public with my disgusting legs. All those years, I kept myself covered, even in summer heat.

I've met some queer girls and feminists since then, who also don't shave. They don't shave anything at all...not their armpits, or the fuzz on their lips...and it's ok. Their boyfriends and girlfriends are proud of them. They like their bodies and how furry they are. I've started wearing shorts again, but only when I'm around them. I'd never go out in public like that.

I can't bring myself to shave either, though.

Age 13

I don't feel the full pressure of having to be thin. I'm constantly told I'm thin, but that's not what I see. I've been a gymnast for almost ten years, and I am the tallest in my gym. I am 5'8 and 110 pounds. I don't see myself as that thin athletic girl anymore. I am constantly at the gym, trying to eat healthy and do everything within my power to make myself look better. But, it's not everyone else that's pressuring me to be thin, I think it's myself.

Age 22

I was 17 when I was raped. I didn’t tell anyone, fearing others might blame me. Eight months later, my parents divorced. I cried alone because I had to be strong for my siblings. My world was falling apart and I felt so, so alone. Food became the one thing I could control. When I look in the mirror, what do I see? A girl who is undeserving of love…someone in so much pain. I became good at punishing myself. I am 5’8” and now weigh 95 lbs. I still have so many demons. I still feel so alone. But at least I am in control of something…even if it’s killing me.