|Here I am in high school, sporting a very classy fake tattoo|
|Senior prom, I was all about the Virgin Mary fake tattoo|
|Here I am repping the Jewish Club table my freshman year of college.|
|Me dressed as Bjork in the swan dress, with her tattoo drawn in Sharpee on my arm.|
Truth be told, I went back and forth on the tattoo front for years. While I was raised with a religious faith... nothing was ever forced on me. But deep down there was an unspoken truth that we just didn’t have tattoos. Then my parents divorced. My whole sense of family, my idea of wholeness was fractured and suddenly I started to think of myself as an autonomous unit. I could continue to live at home, following unspoken rules, remaining a dutiful daughter. Or I could do what I wanted.
|My tattoo in healing mode|
|T-shirt caption via Redbubble|
I am a precious, wondrous, special, unique, divine, rare, valuable, whole, sacred, total, complete, entitled, worthy, and deserving person
Her soon-to-be-ex-husband walks in and marvels at how he always hated the shirt, because he couldn’t read it, to which she replies, “It’s self-affirming.” And that’s what my tattoo is for me. It’s self affirming. It’s a reminder of the pain I pushed through, emotional and physical - especially during the year of my parents' separation and subsequent divorce. Of how I would “never get a tattoo” but then I did, and it’s still there frontwards and backwards, keeping me company always. Back and forth, forever.