In a blog posted on Monday, I said that I was two days away from doing something exciting. And indeed I have. Today was the big day.
I have wanted to do this for months, but I was too intimidated. It puts me squarely outside my comfort zone. But as time went on, I became more and more convinced that it was something I needed to do—for nobody but myself.
Today I got a tattoo. I now have a beautiful lavender, teal and pink butterfly perched at the top of my left breast. For me, it signifies rebirth, a renewal of my spirit after coming through a very dark year and a half. It honors the part of me that refuses to give up no matter how many hits it takes. It honors the part of me that wants to raise a ruckus and dance all night.
Yes, B knows. I had originally planned to do it without telling him, but I decided that that would be too big of a tweak to his sense of propriety. When I told him I was getting it done while he was gone on vacation, he just smiled. Smart man.
It was a good experience from beginning to end. My daughter was my partner in crime, and documented the whole thing in pictures. The tattoo guy was very nice, and very professional. He made it a relatively pleasant experience. It hurt a lot less than I thought it would. Right now, the skin feels similar to being sunburned.
I’m glad I did it. Not everyone will understand my reasons for doing it, and that’s perfectly fine. I knew if I chickened out and didn’t do it, I would regret it for a long time.
It’s one of the few things I’ve ever done in my life that was just for me.
