The Tattooed Lady

For years I've been ashamed, embarrassed, frustrated and angry about my inability to control my weight. I was aware of how cynical I had become about myself as I'd gotten older and I was exhausted from the effort it took to fuel those negative emotions. Like most obese people, my body image was so poor that I couldn't even think about having my picture made. I was always the one holding the camera.

Fortunately, three years ago I was referred to a wonderful endocrinologist who walked me through my medical history following thyroid cancer at age 21 and explained why I had reached this point. Finally I understood how the medical treatment I'd had for thirty years and my own choices had gotten me here.

I was instantly confronted with an entirely new image of my body. It wasn't my adversary, condemning me to declining health and increasing pain. Suddenly, it was the guardian that had shielded me from even more weight, more illness, and, thankfully, more cancer. It was the body I had been blessed with, not the body I had been condemned to. And, in that revelation, I came to a place where I could begin to accept "it" as me.

I decided to put an end to the war I'd had with myself and be grateful. For years I had toyed with the idea of getting a tattoo - I have no idea why. But, when the dogwoods bloomed last spring at the same time that new appreciation blossomed in my mind, I knew exactly what I was going to do.One of the nurses in my doctor's office had tattoos, so I asked her where she had gotten them. (I wasn't about to just go anywhere; the laws allowing tattoo artists in South Carolina were brand new and I wanted a medical "referral" for my body art.)

I emailed my closest friends and family to warn them of what I was about to do. OK, the truth is, I was breaking the news to my 79 year old mother. I knew what her reaction would be and I knew she was entitled to it. I remembered my reaction to our oldest son's tattoo at age 19. I'm certainly not proud of the way that I handled that, but at least HE acted like an adult.

My birthday is in April and dogwoods are always in bloom. Those of us lucky enough to be born in April are blessed to have nature celebrate our birthdays. Dogwoods in bloom are one of my favorite things, maybe my very favorite. I collected photos and drawings of dogwoods, anything I could find to create the art that I would wear the rest of my life. And, I was careful to select images of native Southern Appalachian white flowering dogwoods. No pink hybrids for me. I wanted to embrace the certainty that nature knows best, with dogwoods and with human beings.

The story of getting the tattoo can be told another day, but the experience alone was worth it. I've always believed you should try most things in life at least once and that day was just reaffirming enough.

My dogwood tattoo is just over 2 inches by 2 inches, in full color, on my right calf. I wanted where I could see it and be reminded to be thankful. Sometimes I forget it's there and am pleasantly surprised when I rediscover it. It feels like I've always had it and I've never worried about hiding it. I've tried to rediscover myself in the last year and open myself up to the opportunities around me.

Sometimes I think about adding a few more small images around my dogwood - a dragonfly to represent my husband, a Monarch butterfly for my migratory oldest son, a feisty hummingbird for my youngest. But I'm not going to do it. They don't need me to select their images for them. They'll do just fine choosing their own.