No sense in burying the lede: Mike and I went on our anniversary to get tattoos. Neither modern nor traditional lists name ink as a fourteenth anniversary gift, but maybe they should. Maybe it’s even a little bit Song of Solomon: Set me as a seal upon your heart, as a seal upon your arm, for love is as strong as death.
It was an act of love, both with the man I love and as a mark of love upon myself. I have long been an expert at hating my body, but after it started suffering signs of aging and post-pregnancy, I reached a new level of loathing. I could allow, yes, that carrying and nursing a baby made me see a new strength inside myself, that I shouldn’t look now like I did twenty years ago, but the outside doesn’t offer a view that I am happy about. Even things I did that were ostensibly for my health like taking medicine and training for a half marathon left me changed in ways that made me uncomfortable.
It has been hard to accept that the changes my life has made to my body will be carried with me, are part of me going forward. There is no going back to who I was. My mind knows that and sees it as a beautiful picture of growth, but my body looks in the mirror and does not find it good. I realized a couple of years ago that making a change of my own choosing might help.
I started walking a local prayer labyrinth after Atticus was born, and it has become a powerful symbol in my life. As I walk those twists and turns, I breathe more deeply. The path is not straightforward, but neither is any step wasted. You must stay in the present, one step at a time, without looking too far ahead. Walking the labyrinth has given me a way to accept those aspects of life by helping me unwind the knot around my heart. I never thought I was a tattoo person until I considered getting a labyrinth tattoo, and then I knew immediately it was the right choice.
I doubt that tattoos are on any list that talks about aging gracefully, but for me, the ability to accept, even in a small way, that my body has been shaped by what has come before is a gift. It was empowering to mark myself with a symbol that is important to me as a wife and a mother, one that helps me pray and breathe and think. I will carry it with me just as I carry other scars and stretch marks and sags. Just as I carry all those younger versions of who I used to be, none of them wasted, each building on the ones who came before.
Mike and I went on our anniversary to get tattoos. I have to say that I love mine. It makes me feel strong and I think it is beautiful.
(Mike loves his, too. He got a sea turtle because of the time he spent working with sea turtles in Costa Rica.)