The Art and Ink of Living

I got my first tattoo in 2007. It was in Las Vegas on an anniversary trip with my now ex-husband. I had been wanting one for some time and that seemed like as good of a place as any to do it.

I got two stars on my back, one aqua and one purple, in honor of this thing called mother hood that changed me forever. One for each of my daughters. As I laid there on the table, I channeled my mother/doula self and did some rhythmic breathing to deal with the pain. It actually didn't hurt that badly, but I was so up in my head about it that the nerves were making everything so much worse.  There is this thing called the pain-tension-fear cycle. It was first talked about in relation to childbirth, but I think it applies far more broadly. Basically it states that fear creates tension in the body, and tension creates pain, which makes you more scared. And so it goes.

So I breathed. And it helped.

My second tattoo came in 2010. It was the 5th anniversary of my grandfather's death (on the Jewish calendar). He was the epitome of a survivor. He was in Auchwitz and Bergen Belsen; he lost all of his family, watching most of them perish by murder right in front of his face. I could not go to his funeral as I was 8 months pregnant with Edie. I never mourned his death until that day. I miss him still.

The tattoo has Violet's name in Hebrew,  psalm 133 "hine matov.." which translates into "behold, how good it is for brothers and sisters to sit together in harmony." The last line is Edie's Hebrew name.

That day, and today, as we roll into Passover, I celebrate being Jewish and free. I honor my children. I celebrate motherhood, sisterhood, choice. I mourn the loss of the strongest person I have ever known, and I pray that his power fills me. He was tattooed by the Nazis to persecute him. I choose to tattoo myself in Hebrew on my arm to remind myself of the past and to always remember how precious freedom is. As I sat in that chair with my sister Rachel next to me, I channeled all the loss I had in those 5 years, all those who touched my heart and left me for a more peaceful place. A grandfather. An uncle. A father-in-law. A friend.

The third tattoo I got was last weekend. I had been wanting it for some time and had it planned out in my head. I had no intention at all of getting it that day, but as my husband and I were walking around Saratoga Springs (a fairly vanilla town if there ever was one) we noticed an oddly high number of inked and pierced people. As we got to the end of the main drag we saw a sign for a tattoo convention and decided to check it out. I knew right then and there that there was another one coming my way. I walked around for a good while waiting to see if an artist spoke to me (in the intuitive sense). I settled on this dude from New Jersey who probably weighed less than my eleven year old and was equally as hairless. 

This one was for me. It was to remind me to stay true to myself. To live in the light that I know I have. To keep honest and practice what I preach.

It's also honors my husband and my love for him; he introduced these letters to me and has them on his wrist as well.
It's PMA. Positive Mental Attitude. And a heart, representing love because that is truly what is important in this life.

xx, Randie