At the youthful age of 42, I defied my parents and got my first tattoo, something I had wanted to do for years, but which was for so long considered taboo that I’d held off.
Eventually I realized that the decision is a personal one, and that the words or images I wanted to make a permanent part of me were things that I didn’t want in order to show anyone else, but wanted to remind myself.
Tattoos are not for everyone. I agree. And I am well aware that once upon a time people thought if you had them, you were somehow “less than,” less classly, less sophisticated, and for some, it even meant you were involved in some type of criminal activity.
But as with everything, time changes attitudes and meanings.
For years, my idea for my first tattoo was a tiny guardian angel on my shoulder representing my grandmother, who was watching over me.
But when the time came to actually get my first one, I opted for two words in Italian that represent everything my husband means to me on my left wrist. It surprised him, though fortunately he got over it. And most days it is hidden under my watch band. But on days when the world would get to be too much, I would look down at that, and smile, and the world would back off a little.
Over the years, I have added to the collection, though they are all small and mostly out of sight. A few match with our children, and I did get that angel on my shoulder, though she’s light blue and not so visible.
The most visible one is the most recent, a tiny hummingbird on my right forearm for my dad. I chose a very tiny number, 102, on the top of my foot the same day. That’s the hub’s former badge number.
Eventually, there will be ones to honor this most recent loss, but my next one coming will be one that I began trying to design a year ago. It represents my entire career. It will be a quill and scroll, the traditional symbol of journalism. I worry that the generation that is coming up through the school system now will have no idea what I have devoted 39 years to doing, and I am driven to make it permanent, at least in, and on, me.
Nearly all of the ink I have is no larger than a half dollar, and this will be no exception. As I said, they are not for others, but for me when I need grounding or a reminder of what matters to me.
Each of us has a well we go to for reassurance, for comfort, for grounding when things get beyond us. Mine happens to be a few places I’ve etched messages into my skin, but I know that’s not for everyone. It just works for me.
Things in our country are pretty fraught at the moment, no matter where you stand. We are all in a bit of self-defense mode, and while the face we show to the world may be confident, behind closed doors, a lot of us are worried, alarmed, and feeling as though we are on unsteady ground.
So having something that gives us encouragement, that reminds us of the best of our own lives and brings us back to what we value most is a good thing. And if we can find a way to hold on to that during our days, even better.
When I am feeling defensive, angry or sense that I am acting like less than my best self, I can feel that tiny angel of my grandmother tapping on my shoulder, reminding me to channel her energy and be nice. No one needs to see me being ugly, and I don’t want to have to make amends afterward, because I will. I can’t ever just let it be when I have been less than kind, because I know it has not gotten me anywhere, and I have hurt someone without real cause.
In moments where the loss of hope creeps up on me, or the question of have I done enough with my life, I can look at my wrist and feel my husband’s complete love and his pride in what I do, and I can look at the semi colon on my ankle and remember that this moment is temporary and will pass.
And when I miss loved ones so much I can barely hold my head up from the ache, I lock my eyes on my hummingbird and I know they are all around me, holding me up in love until I can catch my breath.
There are more, but you get the idea. My little messages to myself keep me steady in a world that seems to be spinning ever faster, seems to be turning away from kindness more and more.
Make no mistake, tattoos hurt when you are getting them, and you need to be very sure because they are not washing off. And you need to be prepared for the fact that not everyone approves or appreciates them. Just as not everyone will be supportive and not everyone will appreciate whatever tools you use to keep your heart and soul on track.
But don’t give up on reaching for whatever your tools are, whatever grounds and centers you. You bring something to this world that only you can bring — we all do. So rest assured in the knowledge that whatever it is that keeps you centered, helps you find kindness in a hard moment, and reminds you of the beauty and value of this life, is not only worth holding on to, but is no one’s choice but yours.
Elisabeth Strillacci covers crime, courts, Spencer, East Spencer and Kannapolis for the Salisbury Post.
