It Turns Out I Was Wrong About Tattoos

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Remember being a teenager and feeling so resolute about what was important to you? For example, as a 14-year-old, I was absolutely certain that my feelings for Floppy-Haired Boy would never change. I also knew, without question, that I’d nevereverget a tattoo.

A large part of this had to do with my Christian upbringing, where the whole “your body is a temple” message came in hot from my grandmother. I don’t know how much I believed this, but I also didn’t care too much to question it because I couldn’t imagine committing to something so permanent anyway. (I mean, aside from Floppy-Haired Boy.)

Even as friends got tattoos throughout our teens and 20s, I remained proudly uninked—and rather smug about it, too. “You’re definitely going to regret getting that,” I’d think to myself as I accompanied them to their appointments.

Then, at 30, I did what I thought I’d never do: I got inked.

我从一个大手术,恢复I wanted to commemorate this milestone somehow when the opportunity to get a free flash tattoo presented itself at a work event. Minutes later, I walked out with my first tattoo: a thin cross imprinted along my index finger. It was impulsive, but it also felt invigorating to claim some sense of autonomy over my body after feeling like I had none for so long.

It was then I realized how empowering tattoos could be as a form of self-expression. Like abold new hair coloror adash of vibrant eyeliner, tattoos offer another way to reclaim my identity and make me feel like I have a say in how I show up in the world. My body may be covered in scars, and my face is aging every day, but my tattoos remind me of my resilience and of who I am through all the changes I can’t control.

I now have four tattoos in total, each of them a tiny testament to the life I’ve lived thus far, including a small red flower on my wrist in tribute to my grandmother who recently passed away. She would have hated it at first, but I think she would have warmed up to it eventually. “You are full of surprises,” she’d tell me with a gentle thwack on my back, as she often did when I was younger.

To be fair, no one is more surprised than I am about my slowly growing body of ink. At 18, I was certain I would never get a tattoo, but time has a way of proving you wrong, doesn’t it?

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