It’s a choice - a conscious choice for most. I chose to permanently scar my body with a beautiful tribute to my dad as his signature rests in black ink upon the left side of my rib cage. It’s inconspicuous and hidden from my day-to-day life, but I know it’s there, and that’s all that matters. Yet your words of disapproval still resonate with me.
“Why would you ever do such a thing to your body?”
“Don’t you know you’ll have that for the rest of your life?”
Just because a few inches of skin has changed color does not mean that my personality, ambition, or persona has altered. I guess I didn’t realize the outside repercussions of getting a tattoo. They always talk about the direct and obvious consequences, like: finding a job becomes harder, you’ll see it in a wedding dress, or you’ll be addicted to getting them. However, no one talks about repercussions like: you may gain a few judgmental looks from friends or lose the approval of a parent or grandparent. You may be seen as a disappointment, or this will be talked about at family gatherings until the day you die.
My tattoo may not mean anything to you, but it means the world to me. It’s not a drunken mistake, and it’s not a cutesy heart, infinity sign, or something I found on Pinterest (not to offend anyone who chose that route). It’s something I look at daily, and it brings me back to the day I’ll never forget. It’s almost like a coping mechanism - it helps me understand what happened and why. You wouldn’t berate someone with PTSD for seeing a therapist, so don’t belittle me for a decision I’ve made to help better myself.
I see my father’s signature permanently on my body and wonder if he’s proud of me. I am no longer saddened, embarrassed, or resentful of my story. My tattoo is a driving force in my life, and if that upsets you, I won’t apologize. I will walk away being the bigger person who just so happens to have a little ink under her skin.
