Tattoos are Reminders of Healing and Growth

And I don't regret any of them!

In 1994, my mother and I were in a department store trying on clothes together in a dressing room when she gasped.

Sucking in air she held her breath, “Please tell me that’s not a real tattoo. That’s a temporary one, right.”

“Oh shit,” I silently panicked. “Yes, it’s real. I got it a while ago and actually forgot it was there.”

No, that is NOT my tattoo

Thankfully, there wasn’t any more discussion on it that I can recall, although I could guess she was not sure what to do in that parenting moment as I was 23 years old, old enough to make my own decisions and mistakes. I suspect she had her own internal, “OMFG” moment and took a breath and we quickly shifted our attention to the clothes we were trying on.

Technically, the four tattoos I got have all been meaningful experiences marked by a pivotal moment of time in my life. I say technically four because that first fated tattoo, a sunshine with a face, is now covered by a gorgeous work of art. They say the first tattoo is usually a mistake, and I will admit that while it was not a popular thing to do in the mid-90s, it was ugly, it was a time when I was finding my path in the world.

My roommate from college and I decided to meet in Connecticut, the middle meeting point between her New Jersey and my Massachusetts hometowns where we lived with our parents. This was before Yelp and only a selected few had access to the World Wide Web, so we found a shop in the Yellow Pages, and picked a day and time to meet.

As we approached the entrance, a billow of smoke seeped out of the doorway like a dragon breathing for her latest branding. Our eyes darted the scene quickly assessing the lair consisting of biker dudes with unruly mopped hair to compliment their facial hair and denim leisure suits with a chain wallet for added distinction. We had seen the like before from The Beacon, a bar we frequented in college with a jukebox, pool table, and Milwalkee’s Best, or “the Beast” as we called it, on tap. Scary dudes but typically harmless, so we hoped.

We knew what tattoo we were going to get, but we had to select one from the book to provide to the inker. I scanned the scene and whispered, “Let’s go talk about it and come back.”

At the obligatory bar next door, we had the obligatory shot of tequila and beer, followed by the obligatory conversation. We had come this far, how could we return, we had been planning it for so long, fuck it, let’s just do it.

We bravely reentered the biker’s lair and pointed in the book, a yin yang for her and a sun with a face for me with flames of orange and yellow with red lips. The head dude nodded to the novice, “You can take this one,” and we took turns on the massage chair, exposing the small of our back, and lit a smoke to distract from the pain we had never felt before. We became part of their world for about 30 minutes, paid, and booked it out of there.

Years later, in 2017, when I saw the sticker at the infamous Black Heart Tattoo in San Francisco that read, “Black Lines Matter,” I knew it was referring to my sun, the one with the thick lines making it like a toddler drawing. It was time to cover up that sun of my naive youth as I had been on the path of a deeper spiritual awareness since 2012. I found a beloved community with a pod of seekers learning from Ram Dass. Thankfully, I had that pod and the seedlings that were sprouting from the various meditative practices because, in 2016, my son experienced a psychotic break that pummeled me into a spiral of pain for a ride I never thought I’d go on. The practices, family, and community served me well and I felt a giant lotus flower would be the perfect way to represent, “No mud, no lotus.”

There was no smoking at this tattoo experience, although there were shots of tequila shared between my girlfriend and me at the Zeitgeist next door where the appropriate punk band exploded their tunes. I was grateful she came along for the experience to witness the transformative pain I was about to endure. I trusted the true artist, Scott, owner of the tattoo shop and we gabbed for a few hours as he artfully and colorfully covered the sun, leaving me with a gorgeous lotus flower rooted in a heart. It was worth the purchase of the design by a local devotional artist whose creations I adore.

You’ll have to trust me on the beauty of it.

And that’s when the tattoo bug began, and I started planning my next one. The pain from the first one would prove to be practically nothing as it was a short and sweet experience at the same shop. And of course, it was commenced with the ritual visit to the bar with another dear friend to accompany me to make an afternoon out of it. A similar purpose of the spiritual path brought me to this simple design on my left inner bicep. It’s my reminder that I come from the earth striving to blossom with healing, from dust we came and dust we shall return, it’s all impermanent.

Fresh ink!

The catalyst for my next piece of body art was a visit to Joshua Tree with a ritual shaman healer only two years ago. She was a gifted guide who taps into other realms and has provided some beautiful support and healing from the lingering ambiguous grief that simmers within me. We visited a sacred location and sat next to The Tree of Life, as it is named, even though it lies on the ground and appears to be dead. Trees are mysterious and scientifically have a community beneath the surface. The whole park is sacred, with many energetic vortexes and ancestral stories. I have felt the powerful energy of death in some places that has forced me to leave with goosebumps over my body and a quickening of my heart as an undeniable message to move along. This time, with my guide, we meditated and invoked powerful, energetic healing, revealing my connection to the space from another life. She narrated her visions to me to reveal a chief and two children who were mine from long ago. Again, the telling goosebumps up the back of my neck and deep feelings arose in me, feeling an undeniable but strange connection to this truth I knew in my bones. An ancestral connection to this desert land is another step in my healing and spiritual growth journey.

Thus, as a reminder, came the next tattoo residing on my right inner forearm as a reminder to stay grounded in love, to remember Mother Earth and Father Sky, and all the ancestors that came before me, helping me to fly effortlessly today. Plus, as a Sagittarius, the symbol resonates with the archer’s bow and arrow. While it’s not effortless to remember this unconditional love and support, all I have to do is look down, meditate, and remember I am not alone. None of us are.

And for this Jewish girl, the placement of this tattoo is like a “fuck you” to the Nazis who branded our people as I reframe and take back my power. I am all the things and so much more.

Thanks for bearing witness to these stories.

Shalom and Namaste.

Shelley