Now take a deep breath, because I'm going to say something that will baffle and confuse most people reading this today. Looking at my photo, you will see that I am fat - actually hugely fat at 18 stone. I kind of look like an apple on legs.

Given that being fat is considered to be one of the worst things anyone, particularly a woman, can be in our society, you probably think I must be really upset about my size. After all, we live in a time where there has never been more of an emphasis on physical perfection, and being slim to the point of thinness is seen as the holy grail. Fat-shaming of public figures is rife, whether they haven't shed the baby weight fast enough for some magazine's liking, or have a spare tyre on display in their bikini on holidays.

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Regular people aren't immune either. Poking fun at the porkers among us is almost a national past-time, and there is a whole range of programmes on TV about weight, the worst of which is You Are What You Eat, where Gillian McKeith employs every diabolical ruse she can think to shame those nominated by their families for the series. Fatties are plonked on the scales in their underwear for us to gawp at, and make no mistake, it's purely for entertainment and ratings.

So I understand that if you see me trundling down the street in my size 26 dress, you might think my life must be miserable and wretched?

The thing is, and this is the part you may find hard to believe, being fat rarely causes me a second thought.

I know this is not how the majority of obese people feel, and most people reading this would be devastated to be my size, but I'm very happy with my life and rarely give my lardy arse a minute's consideration.

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Don't get me wrong, I don't think I'm any kind of beauty and Angelina Jolie won't have to look over her shoulder in case I steal her new hubby away, but when I look in the mirror, I don't hate the image I see reflected back. I'm not saying it should be celebrated or that being fat makes me happy, but it genuinely doesn't make me miserable and I'm not ashamed of it. And if I suddenly became slim, of course I would be delighted, but I'm not going to let being fat ruin the life I have now.

I just think that there is so much to love and learn in this world, without sounding too happy-clappy about it, that I don't want to waste a minute of it obsessing over my weight. It is truly soul-destroying to be filled with self-loathing, and I'd much rather spend my energy worrying about what's going on inside my head and my heart, instead of where the needle is going to land on the scales.

When it comes to being a woman, in particular, talent and hard work will always be secondary to physical appearance in many people's eyes. Too fat, too thin, too plain, too beautiful - what is seen on the surface is what we are judged on. And we are judged most harshly of all on being fat, because excess weight is the one aspect of us that we wear very publicly.

When you think of it, many people drink way too much, or pop too many painkillers, or exhibit destructive and toxic behaviours. Being abusive, jealous, spiteful, dishonest or unkind is far more damaging to your own peace and happiness and that of the people around you than carrying a bit of extra weight will ever be, but nobody will be making a TV programme to humiliate you about these failings.

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And actually, from interviewing a whole host of beautiful women over the years, from TV and film stars, to models like Rosanna Davison, Pippa O'Connor and Roz Purcell, I can testify that even these perfectly flawless creatures have areas of their appearance that they're sensitive about.

And I have also been on many magazine photo shoots where the most amazing-looking women have begged the photographer to employ a little trickery to make them look a bit thinner and taller, or have fretted about their skin or some other aspect of their appearance that looked perfectly fine to the rest of us.

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As part of my job as a feature writer, I conduct interviews with well-known people every week over tea or lunch, and a photo is taken of the two of us. And while I make an effort to look well, I never really mind what I actually look like in the picture. It's about the other person, after all. Sometimes I look okay in these pics, and other times not so great, but who cares at the end of the day? Let's face it, as jobs go, it doesn't get much jammier.

Having said that, I'm only human, so of course it hurts me if someone says something unkind, and working in media can invite all sorts of negative comments in relation to your physical appearance.

Lining up interesting people is a tricky business, often requiring a lot of planning, negotiation, and sometimes, cajoling, so when a man in the media industry declared to an assembled group that "the only reason celebrities want to do interview is because she's so fat, they know they will look good in the picture next to her", of course I found that really disappointing and insulting.

And after the online trolls slagged me off over the pasta dish I was having for lunch in a picture with Dave Fanning, I made a mental note to order the salad the next time. And actually, the next time was with the lovely Ryan Tubridy, who ordered steak and chips and joked that people wouldn't believe that "the skinniest man in Ireland is having chips".

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And in case you're wondering, I'm not completely deluded about the risks of obesity. I know that being fat leaves me at greater risk of cancer, heart disease, and any other illness that you can conjure up, and that we fatties are a drain on the health service and a menace to society.

So I'm going to acknowledge those very valid facts, as I lie on the sofa eating crisps and watching Judge Judy - joke!

I could be wrong, but maybe being miserable and stressed also plays a huge role in contributing to overall health, regardless of your actual size.

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It is obviously an unscientific observation, but I am never, ever sick, and my friends are all envious of my robust good health. I walk my dogs every day, and am a fit fatty, so to speak.

And yes, I could drop dead of a sudden heart attack tomorrow, but if the unfairness and randomness of life has taught me one thing, it's that it's just as likely to be healthy old you who hits the deck.

Could it be that focusing on our looks distracts us from our real problems? After all, it's probably easier to blame the things that are going wrong in your life on your flabby thighs and fat stomach, rather than tackling the possibly more painful and frightening task of investigating what is actually going on inside your head.

I suppose I'm lucky, because my self-esteem isn't bound up in my appearance, but it's a attitude that many people don't understand. Maybe they suspect that underneath the happy demeanour, I'm secretly miserable and filled with self-loathing, but I swear on my parents' lives that it's not true.

And thank God for that, because there are two ways to look at it.

The first is that I could hide myself away at home, miserable and ashamed, or take a less public job, and avoid putting myself out there to be judged.

Or I could remember that there are millions of people currently pushing up daisies in graveyards around the world, or staring listlessly up at hospital ceilings, and any one of them would give everything they had to be able to walk down the streets of Dublin in my fat old body for even one more day.

On that basis, how ungrateful would it be of me to fret about an aspect of my physical appearance, when I'm lucky enough to be alive and well, wanting for nothing, and living in a safe country with a great family and friends?

I think we'd live in a far more interesting and colourful world if the focus was less on how much we weigh or what dress size we wear. Wouldn't it be a kinder and more interesting option for us to focus on how much fun, laughter and fulfilment we can pack into the very short time we're on this planet, whether we're fat, thin or somewhere in between?

Irish Independent