I have been staring at an empty spot on my wrist, trying to decide what to put in that small space, for like two years. It’s surrounded by the leaves of one of my peonies, a Delft Blue tempest in a teacup for my mama, and my Covid syringe. I knew I would be staring at it everyday, and so would my patients and pretty much everyone. And the wrist hurts like a bitch. I think the pain is nature’s way of telling you not to kill yourself cuz it hurts too much. It’s a significant spot, but not much room for detail or extravagance. But, I crave significance in all of my tattoos, so this decision could not be made lightly and it couldn’t just be a filler. They all have meaning to me. And I am a lucky girl. I am lucky AF.
So, I decided on a four leaf clover.
The heart shaped leaves represent the four of us, in my little family. I’m so lucky to have this life. To have them. To be loved by them and although the leaves stretch out towards the sun as they grow, all four are connected at the center. Four leaf clovers are rare, hard to find. I’m lucky. Green represents new growth. I want to carry this luck with me everywhere I go. I want to be reminded, even on the darkest days, I am lucky. Fortunate. Blessed.
The Celts believed that four leaf clovers carry magical powers of protection and they ward off evil. I need protection. And haters back off. Evil can pass right over me. They also claim that the bearer of the magical clover can see fairies. I want to see fairies. Maybe I’m a little Fae myself. I live near Fairytale Town and Tanglewood Forest, so, it’s possible. But the Celtic fairies are mischievous and potentially dangerous, like steal your children dangerous, and carrying this clover with me will allow me to see them and evade them, if needed.
I am magic.
I also wanted a little spot on the opposite side of my wrist, a spot I can’t see easily, to be filled. I thought I would just get a tiny black heart there. I wear my heart on my sleeve, get it? And sometimes it’s a cold, shut-down, dark, brooding, depressed black heart. But hearts, no matter their color, are full of love. Deep love. So deep, put your butt to sleep. (that’s an inside joke, lol, if you know, you know.)
To love me, you have to get around my darkness to see that deep love. To feel it. I do, too.
You all turn my cold black heart luke warm gray. 🖤
I have been eyeballing one of my tattoo artist’s flash tattoos for awhile, cuz I thought it was cute. It is a safety pin piercing three hearts. I didn’t think it would fit in this space. Bri, my favorite tattoo artist, said nuh, uh, uh, “I’m going to try and make it fit…but you only get one heart.” She made it fit. With one heart. Mine.
This year has been all about me. I have been selfish. I have taken this year to learn what loving myself means. We all get to define what that means to us as individuals. For me, I decided that loving myself means treating myself as lovingly as I treat my own children and the people around me. Acceptance is the goal. Being a loving mother means that you make sure your kids are eating a healthy, balanced diet. You get them involved in sports so that exercise and activity is fun or you sneak it in by making them walk home from school or go outside and ride your bike and they incorporate moving their bodies into everyday. You make them come out of their rooms and be present and part of the world. You make sure they stay hydrated and eat protein and fruit and veggies. I know I’m not alone in this, but I would literally not eat the strawberries cuz I wanted to be sure they had them for breakfast. I wanted them to have the nutritious things they liked, and kept them from myself so they would have enough. More than enough. How dumb is that? So, I’m eating the strawberries now.
My year of selfishness brought me back to me. To giving myself what it needed to heal, from my surgeries, and from life. I lovingly walked everyday like it was my job. I did the normal activities of daily living, that sometimes depressed people just don’t do. Like showering, everyday. Like cooking oatmeal with fresh blueberries and pecans for breakfast. Like brushing your teeth and talking to friends. I still don’t want to wash dishes though.
I chose plastic surgery to change the shape of my body so that I could move with more freedom, and so that I didn’t feel grotesque anymore. So that I could accept this body and not avoid looking at myself. Inside and out. My body is far from being plastic surgery perfect, but I wasn’t going for perfection. I was just going for something other than hatred and shame. When he cut my whole belly off, Dr. Yamahata took the weight of a lifetime with it. It was instant. I wish I had done it sooner.
So this year, and now this life, is all about me. The things I have chosen for myself have pierced that cold black heart of mine and brought me to safety, in my mind. Strong like Mulan. I’m inside my bubble of safety and no one else is allowed inside. Cuz if I don’t love and protect myself by becoming stronger, who will? And so, without realizing it, Bri created this little tattoo with more meaning than I even planned for. I thought I was just getting a tiny little black heart filler tattoo, but I got so much more.
And for the final 50th birthday addition to my midlife crisis aka party arm, I got a big, bold bra that’s on fire. Cuz my tits went viral not once, but twice, maybe more if we count all the cool things that happened this year. From 3.1 million views on TikTok to the Daily Mail, The Sun, and several international online tabloids, to 41.5 MILLION views on Facebook to 43,000 new followers to becoming a paid digital creator. All because of my giant boobs and a plaster cast of them I made with my friends before surgery. I said goodbye to the burden of a lifetime while saying hello to a better life for me and for my family because of all this work. Inside and out.
Plus, after my breast reduction, I don’t have to wear a bra anymore if I don’t want to. They stay where they are supposed to.
So let’s set that bitch on fiyaaahhh!
Let the MFer burn!