Warning: This article contains mention of self-harm.
The first tattoo I ever got was the outline of an equilateral triangle on the inside of my left wrist when I was 18 years old. The artist who did it looked like Santa Claus in a biker gang, with a long white beard, beer belly stomach and sleeves of old-school tattoos. When I told him what I wanted, he said:
“Just a triangle? That’s it?”
I looked at him dead in the eyes, nervousness churning around in the pit of my stomach, and said, “Yeah. That’s it. Really small, please.”
He grinned and said okay. “It’ll probably take a minute,” he told me. I lay my wrist out on the cushion and let him go to work. I watched the needle draw each line in my skin and counted one, two, three and then done. That’s it. When I got home, my Mom looked at it and said, “I could’ve done that with a magic marker.”
Every day after that, I couldn’t stop staring at my new tattoo. Each time I looked at it, I felt exultant. It was such a tiny little thing, but it held so much meaning for me: defiance, the claiming of my body as mine, strength, balance, and overcoming the scars that I had made on that wrist. I couldn’t cut there anymore because now I had my little triangle.
I found myself back at the tattoo shop within four months, laying my other wrist out on the cushion, getting stabbed repeatedly with ink to create an eye in sun rays. I couldn’t stop looking at it again. But I also couldn’t stop thinking about what the limits were now.
What other tattoos would I want on my body? What would they mean? What would they look like? Would I ever get words, and if so, what? The idea of tattoos was like a deep abyss that I found bliss looking into. I made lists of possible ideas for the future ones I wanted to get. As time went on, I found myself itching to get another one, for whatever meaning or whatever reason.
Around three years into the tattoo journey, I started to catch myself. Am I addicted to getting tattooed or do I actually, genuinely need this tattoo? My first tattoo truly felt like a need to me. Where am I now with this journey of ink in my skin? How do I justify these to people like my parents? Does any of this even matter?
I didn’t like the word ‘addict’ or ‘addicted,’ so it actually scared me when I introduced that idea to myself. Every tattoo I have has enormous meaning, but what if it didn’t? Would I hate myself? Probably not, honestly. There are times where I look at my tattoos and I wonder what my body would look like without them, but that doesn’t mean I regret them.
Everyone gets tattoos for a different reason, although arguably, that they have become much more mainstream lately. The reason for a tattoo is different for everyone — it can be incredibly sentimental and personal, or it can be out of a desire to subscribe to trend or addiction — so check in with yourself as to why you might want one. Some people get tattoos just to get them. Some get them to have a collection, or for the desire to have a sleeve because they enjoy the way it looks.
Tattoos are art, and it’s completely a personal decision to get one. You don’t need to explain yourself to everyone who asks about them — why you got them or what they mean — but you should at least be prepared to get asked. Keep that in mind, be safe, do your research, and check in with yourself about where you are on your journey with body art.
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