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Size. Perhaps it’s a generational thing, or maybe it was my determination that if it zips, it fits – but the perennial theme was Mum telling me I needed a bigger size . Her oft-repeated conviction pressed painfully on the rawness about weight that exists below the surface between us, as it does for so many mothers and daughters. Shopping with me can’t have been a picnic for her, either. I matured physically pretty early. By the time I was 15, I was a size 12 and a D-cup. I had the body of a 20-something woman, not a teenage girl. I wanted to look like my friends, in strappy vests and low-slung jeans but my body made it impossible. When Mum told me something didn’t suit me, or that I needed a bigger size, it was because she wanted me to have clothes that fitted and looked good. What she meant was that the clothes were wrong. What I heard was that my body was wrong. Rebecca opens up about her struggle with shopping as part of Stella's One Day series So, in my mid-teens, we came to an unspoken understanding: shopping wasn’t an activity to be undertaken together. Which was fine until I got engaged last year and needed to find a wedding dress. I put off dress shopping for 14 months but as the wedding got closer, my anxiety began to border on obsession.
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