Chapter 14

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On Thursday morning, a reply waited for me:

Tell me more. I am here for you.

In keeping with our one-sided sharing tradition, Matt's response had been succinct but it drew a huge smile across my face. He doesn't think I'm a weirdo. He supports me.

Perhaps it was the golden Queensland sun, or the knowledge of the early tendrils of love blooming again between Matt and me, I wasn't sure. All I truly knew for sure was that I was burning with anticipation for the live cross on Friday. The day passed in a happy blur as I filmed my report.

"You're in a good mood," commented Heather as we dressed for dinner later that afternoon.

"What's to not be happy about?" I said, brushing my hair out on the balcony of the gorgeous apartment. "We got everything we needed on film today, I've just had an amazing swim in the ocean, I'm about to eat an awesome meal with my friend, and I just feel good – lighter even."

"You do?" She squealed and raced to my side, palm raised for a high-five. "That's amazing! Did you weigh yourself again?"

"Not yet, it's just how I feel."

"Then don't. The scales don't tell the whole story. Forget about the number and keep focusing on how you feel. If you concentrate on health rather than weight, you'll stay happier."

"Makes sense." I'd always hated the scales – either they judged me, laughed at me, or informed me that no matter how much I'd lost, there was always more to go. The idea of ditching my morning weigh-in felt liberating as I imagined a future where every morning didn't begin with comparison and self-loathing. "Anyway, I think it must be all the swimming. I don't know why I don't swim more at home; you just feel so good afterwards."

A lesser woman would probably have suggested that the reason I never utilised the beach out the front of my house was because I'd hadn't dared to go out publicly in a swim suit until I'd been forced me to. All Heather said was, "You look fantastic, and I'm glad you feel good too. Although, I think there might be at least one more reason for your sunny disposition today..."

"So... maybe it feels good to be speaking with Matt again."

"Maybe?"

"Definitely." I'd already let Heather read both my email and his reply. I wasn't sure what I'd do without her around to over-analyse everything with me; otherwise, it would just be me staring at the screen, obsessing and misinterpreting the words.

Ping! My emails dinged again. Needing to find a hair tie in the bathroom, I passed close by my laptop on the way and scanned the screen. "Oh my God! It's Matt again!"

If Heather recognised that I sounded like an excitable fan-girl, she didn't mention it. "What does it say?" she asked, joining me by the computer.

Dear Evi,

I was trying to play it cool with my two line response, but clearly, you've got way more self-control than me when it comes to this game. Your email has been burning a hole in my brain all day, and I just have to write to you again.

First off, you're not self-indulgent; I asked you these questions, you're answering. I think you're just not used to talking about yourself. I hope I can change that, at least around me.

Second, I am so sorry for what you went through in high school and uni. I may never have had a struggle like yours, but that doesn't mean I haven't watched this industry affect so many women around me, even the ones who share the desk by my side. You're definitely not the only one struggling with body image. It's not fair that film, fashion and TV make demands on women to look a certain way – I'm just not sure how on earth we could ever change it.

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