Happy Wednesday, folks.
I recently came across a post with photographs of written word tattoos – tattoos that intended to tell a story.
Names and dates – reminders of people loved and lost.
Replicas of handwritten notes from a child.
Quotes from books, songs, poetry, speeches.
As someone who loves tattoos, I know how meaningful they can be.
I have added tattoos to my own body in remembrance and celebration of big life events. And I have had more than one covered, and more than one removed.
The ones that remain are loving reminders of my life to this point.
A butterfly, originally circa 1997 [thank you, Alison Poncy Mitchell] redesigned in 2008 to signify, wistfully, a metamorphosis in my life.
A heart created from my sons’ initials on the nape of my neck.
A tree of life rooted in Domenick’s initials – on my side [and always beside me].
A series of 5 stars – on my back to remind me of eternal love + sacrifices in my past.
A lotus flower – a beautiful symbol of purification and faithfulness – that carefully cradles my heart.
One tattoo in the post, however, stopped me in my tracks.
Be kind to yourself – obviously on the forearm of a self-harmer.
I’d recognize those scars anywhere. They are as familiar to me as my own tattoos. The only difference between me and this lovely woman is that I chose never to cover my scars.
Self-harm. Cutting, Self-mutilation.
Even the words are ugly. The scars are ugly. The story behind the scars is ugly.
But her tattoo is divine.
I have grown accustomed to my scars. I trace them sometimes as a reminder of how bad it once was. How desperate I felt. And how far I have come.
My cutting was multi-dimensional, but ultimately, it was a release.
At that time, I couldn’t attain relief through my writing. I was too young to know how to effectively spill my words onto the page and so I poured myself out in other ways.
My life was filled with self-destructive behaviors.
Things that change a teenage girl.
It took me years to get ahead of it all.
One of the things that initiated my shift was finding and attending a small, women’s college nestled in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia. It was there that I met Anne, Alison, Alicia, Erin, + Cameron. It was also there that I found true value in who I was, and who I was becoming. I thank God for those women, for that school, and for my years there.
They reset my path.
And now I am a woman. And I can look at that photo and see myself in her. And I want to find her, and hug her, and I want her to hold me right back.
As an act of kindness for ourselves.
My Juicy Glad-I-Caught-That: “Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.” Plato
Because although it may have made me unsightly for a moment in time, coming out on the other side of it also made me beautiful.
See you on the flip-side.
In love,
Noelle
xoxox