Tattoos: A Reclamation of Youth, Inexperience and Self...

I got my first tattoo when I was 30.  I tried to get ones before that but being drunk all the time and in questionable establishments allowed for fate to intervene and save me from myself...

The first one hurt, a lot.  I got it September 10, 2001.  I will always know the date of the tattoo because it was the day before our lives were forever altered and rearranged.  I couldn’t give blood to help with the pentagon tragedy.  And I remember being so disappointed in myself.  That was only made worse by the knowledge that they didn’t really need a lot of blood because there were so few survivors.

Then I didn’t get any for a long time.  It wasn’t that I didn’t want them, regretted my initial decision or the pain.  It was that I was busy with my life, then getting married, working and having children.  I just had other priorities. And I think, if I am honest, that I began to feel too old to get tattoos.  Like it was irresponsible and unbefitting of a woman my age.

Well, I blew that idea all to fuck because I really started the tattoo expanse after I turned 50.  With 50, came this new idea of me and who I was.  Even though the digits were going up, I felt younger, freer, happier and the most me I had ever felt.  There was a surge of freedom that came with turning 50 and I no longer cared what was appropriate for a woman my age.  I felt free to just do as I pleased and so, I did.

Now I have over 40.  And there is no plan on stopping.  I have an entire album on my phone of tattoo ideas that I like and want.  And my “thing” is to travel to new fun destinations and add to my body count. (My TATTOO body count, get your mind out of the gutter! Or don't, hahaha).

I feel, in some ways, I am aging in reverse.  There are so many things I didn’t experience when I was young.  I was so drunk and fucked up all the time and then when I wasn’t burning my life to the ground, I was out there achieving all sorts of educational and career shit.  I was responsible citizen by day and complete derelict by night.  And I needed the juxtaposition of those two lives to keep me upright and vertical. And while there was a lot of time spent recovering from all sorts of fucked up stuff.  I didn’t have time to really be inexperienced.   Immature, yes!  Irresponsible, most of the time!  But I am one of those people who always felt like I had to be in the know and I could not ever just launch myself out into the world.

So I have been making up for lost time...and tattoos and travel are two ways that I live out that youth I missed.  And I will tell you that I love both equally.  There is something quite special about traveling to a new place I have never been and getting ink done there that is now permanently etched on my body forever.

Tattoos have given me access to parts of me that I didn’t have before.  A reclamation of my body that has been a struggle for the whole of my life.  It is resurfacing, decorating with things that mean something to me.  I not only love tattoos for myself but on men, fuck that is hot and sexy. A personal history and epic in pictorial form.

I can’t ever get those younger years back.  And to be honest, I don’t want them.  I was such a mess back then.  So uncomfortable in my own skin, so flailing and running scared.  Incapable of owning my body, my soul and my mind.  Those things were in a constant state of conflict.   And I know it may be a stretch to say that tattoos brought me inner peace and self acceptance, but they did.

To me they are art.  And I am my own canvas.  I can decorate and adorn in any way I choose.  And I fucking love it.  So many things I find meaningful and important and I can own them forever on my body.

My ex asked me one time if when he died, I would preserve some of his tattoos (apparently they can cut off your skin and preserve it under glass).  I said, “sure, whatever you want...’ But I will admit I was like, “wtf?”  Now I kind of get it...A piece of art to be preserved forever.  No, I have not asked this of my children, but I have thought about it.

I have taken both my children to get tattoos on their 18th birthdays.  My son and I did it together but got different designs and my daughter and I got one that was the same.  And it was a lovely moment of sharing.

A woman who was the “other woman” to my last relationship became a good friend and we got matching tattoos to commemorate our mutual survival of that motherfucker.  A testament to the resiliency and love we found in each other.

I can feel myself ramping up for a good road trip and some new ink.  There is a tattoo expo coming to town next weekend and I can’t wait to go!  I am so excited! I love the artistry of it all and the expression of individuality that is part and parcel to the creativity of tattoos.

For me, tattoos are a reclamation of my body.  They have become a planting of flags of sorts for me, to reclaim what is mine and that which was not always treated as such.  We all heal in different ways...in our own time.  For me, that journey deepened and widened after 50 with the addition of many tattoos.  And the journey, as I see it, shall continue...

Again...still.