Celebrating My 30th Birthday With My First Tattoo

Hello Writer Bees,

On Sunday, February 5^th, I turned 30 years old. My twenties are in the rear-view mirror. Such a special milestone.

For a few years now, getting a tattoo has been on my bucket list. But I wasn’t sure about what I’d get or when it would happen. Couple months back, my mom and I were looking through some old cards and letters written by my Puerto Rican grandmother. In that plastic bin of miscellaneous papers, I found the inspiration for my first tattoo.

My grandmother – I called her Abuelita – was an important part of my life. She was kind and patient and cared for everyone and everything. I adored her. When I was about seven years old, she was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. She passed away almost ten years. Today, whenever anything good happens to me, I believe it’s her doing. What better idea for a tattoo than a tribute to her, my little guardian angel.

All day Sunday, my nerves were a wreck. I was beyond anxious. Not about the pain of getting inked, just the pulling the trigger aspect of this decision. The taking a big-scary-leap type of decision. The dauting question of “Am I really going to do this?”. Thank goodness for my partner’s boundless patience and support. Of course, I spent the afternoon procrastinating. We went to a hardware store and then a pet store, where I nervously paced through the aisles. Walking helps my anxiety sometimes. A stomach full of tacos helped too.

Finally, sitting outside the tattoo shop, I told myself that If I don’t get this tattoo today – on my birthday – I would regret it. Chickening out was not an option. So, I gathered up my courage and got a tattoo. Honestly, it’s more discomfort than pain. It’s more like a vibrating scratch than a bee sting or burning sensation. Hard to explain in words, but what a cool, worthwhile moment.  

Writing this post, I’m looking down at my Abuelita’s handwriting permanently scrawled onto my forearm. Copied exactly from a Valentine’s Day note she wrote me when I was only a newborn. It’s the word ‘Corazón’, which means heart in Spanish. I can say I’m wearing her heart on my sleeve. It’s the most beautiful thing.

Here’s what I learned from my first tattoo experience. I almost talked myself out of something because I was scared, waiting for the right time. Now, I’m overjoyed with this tiny scribble of ink. Yes, big scary leaps are big and scary. Just remember, the jump might be worth it in the end. Don’t let fear stop you from going after what you want.

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Do any of you have tattoos? What’s the story behind your ink? Lemme know in the comments.

Write with heart.

Love,

Lady Jabberwocky  

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