Tattoo You?

When I was 24, I wanted to be a bad ass. To be tough, cool, and edgy. I wanted to be sophisticated and ahead of my time. I wanted to rebel.

A week ago, I got a new tattoo, one I’ve wanted for a while. I was determined to get it before the Jewish New Year. I designed it, found a tattoo artist, and booked the only open slot on her schedule.

I thought about the two tats I had, what they mean to me, and then remembered that I actually have three. Ever hear about training bras? Training wheels? Well, the first one was my training tattoo.

How did I forget? Not sure. Parts of my past get filed away in my brain’s archive as uploads of new data come in. Lost forever? Maybe sometimes. But often the memories go missing temporarily until something triggers the missing piece to pop back into view.

That first tat lives out of sight, tucked under my second one, as a sweet, funny memory.

Tattoo #1

When I was 24, I wanted to be a bad ass. To be tough, cool, and edgy. I wanted to be sophisticated and ahead of my time. I wanted to rebel. I don’t remember who gave me that first tattoo. I know I got in Los Angeles. The rest is a blur, much like that 40-year-old tat. It’s hidden under a newer one; I haven’t seen it in 35 years.

I came back to New York with the smallest tattoo anyone has ever gotten. What was it? Brace yourself, this is special. I chose a winged heart. A teeny, tiny, winged heart. Such an original choice, so inspired. It was so small that when I offered people a peek, I’d proudly unveil my right shoulder, and the person would squint, move in for a closer look, tilting their head to the left and to the right before asking, what is that? It looks like… Woody Woodpecker? More than one person asked that question––even about Woody. Proof that it wasn’t a very good tattoo. Proof to the world that I was failing at my attempts at being a bad ass, except in my own mind. I loved that little bugger.

See the little speck on the back of my right shoulder? Yup. Woody.

Tattoo #2

The next few years were challenging and by the time I was 27, I was in a very dark place. Depressed and unable to fix it, I found a therapist and tried to sort myself out. Instead, I got worse, and my therapist begged me to consider antidepressants. I dug in and refused, but as I spiraled deeper, I grudgingly surrendered and Prozac saved the day.

Prozac lifted the depression and shot me out of a cannon. On the pro side, I felt GREAT! Happy, energetic. On the con side, my libido died and I was plagued with insomnia. My flirtation with anorexia was sparked, because I lost my appetite; I was newly hyper, and as a result, I lost a lot of weight. I counted that as a plus, when in retrospect it wasn’t a plus at all. But I was so much better and so grateful to be alive.

When I visited friends in L.A. (what is it about L.A?), I wanted a second tattoo. I’d read that the Japanese Koi symbolized beauty, strength, longevity, and overcoming obstacles. Koi can live to be 100 years or older. I wanted to mark my rebirth with a symbol of survival and triumph.

I found a tattoo shop, picked the first available artist and we got to work. I sat in his chair for over 6 hours; we smoked Marlboros and drank Coca Cola and schmoozed. My sad little winged heart was easily covered by the huge koi that drapes my entire shoulder. I still know where that heart lies buried.

I returned to New York with my badge of freedom.

Tattoo #2: 10 years after my koi joined me. Her colors were great!

Tattoo #3

35 years later I decided to celebrate my 60^th birthday with a new tattoo. I wanted a ritual to mark another passage in my life. Even with meds, I’d experienced bouts of depression too numerous to count. Sinking into despair, then pulling myself back from the edges, I never gave up, though suicidal ideation was a recurring theme. The thoughts would pop in when life got overwhelming. I never tried to kill myself, at least not consciously, though some of my behaviors might yield a different conclusion. I’d spent the year leading up to this birthday weaning myself off my antidepressant medication for the first time in over 30 years.

I needed to try, and all was well.

I wanted to design something that honored my experience. I’d heard a little about the semicolon tattoo, but I didn’t know much. I’d seen people with a single semicolon tat, often placed on the wrist.

I discovered that the tattoo idea was created by Amy Bleuel––in memory of her father––who killed himself. She founded The Semicolon Project in 2013 to raise awareness about mental illness and suicide. A very successful campaign whose need was made even more evident when Amy took her own life in 2017.

I found a blurb that explained the meaning of the semi-colon tattoo:

“A semicolon is used when an author could have chosen to end their sentence but decided not to because they had more to say. The author is you, and the sentence is your life. It’s not just a symbol; It's a reminder that your story isn't over.”

That was what I wanted. That reminder. I wanted to honor myself and the people we’ve lost to this illness. Instead of the single semicolon, I designed a wristband of 32. One for each year I was treated for depression. It came together the day before my birthday, and I was able to grab a chair at the studio. I didn’t know the artist, but his portfolio looked good. Getting a tattoo is an exercise in trust and risk-taking. I sat down in his chair, appreciating his gentle nature and I trusted that he’d deliver. I let go of my need to control the outcome and set him loose. Two hours later, I walked out of his shop, with thirty-two delicate semicolons wrapped around my left wrist, in celebration of not only my desire to live but my joy at being here.

The best pic ever. Tat prominently featured. Photo: Franco Vogt

Fresh ink!

Tattoo #4

Hineni. Here I am. That’s the tat. It’s a Hebrew word. A word spoken in the Torah, it’s an answer to a question, a commitment to God. Here I am. I don’t believe in God. For me, Hineni is a commitment to being present. I’d been thinking about getting this one for a year. I attended High Holy Day services in 2023 with my girlfriend, and the rabbi talked about the meaning of the word. I wanted a signpost to mark the transformations in my life, and as a remembrance of the Jews who were tattooed at Auschwitz, on the inside or outside of the left forearm. A gesture, an acknowledgement. Reclaiming what was stolen. I wanted that for me. Reclaiming what was lost for so long. Me. Hineni. Here I am.

Thirteen months ago, I made a commitment to my recovery, working a 12 Step program, attending meetings every day. I went back on my antidepressant, because after a few years off, it became clear that it’s appropriate for me to take one. I felt like I’d failed at first but came to acceptance that it’s okay to need help. The important piece is that I’m here because I want to be here. Hineni. Here I am.

Here I Am. On the inside of my left forearm and brand new.

In the past year I joined Substack as a writer. I stepped up and stopped hiding myself, hiding my stories. I gave up thinking that I couldn’t measure up, that I wasn’t good enough. Good enough for what? I’m tired of that line and I took my red pencil to it. My relationship with my girlfriend ended abruptly and I’m living with the disappointment that it didn’t work out. I miss her every day. But I don’t miss the things that didn’t work. I needed to end it because I was afraid that I’d disappear. I’ve disappeared before in relationships, and I couldn’t do it again. I needed to work on that issue alone. And for the first time, my life didn’t fall apart because I’d lost love. My recovery work has led to healing and to understanding that it takes time and the work never ends. I’m taking care of myself, witnessing my life expand, receiving the riches of connection and communication.

I’m living my dream.

Hineni is a commitment to being fully alive. To not selling myself short. To taking risks. To being all in. I’m all in. I want to show up as the best version of myself I can be. If that’s not badass, I don’t know what is.

Here I am. Hineni.

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IT’S THE TATTOOED WRITERS ROUNDUP!

Last Friday, I shared my plan to write about my tattoos for my weekly post with other writers in the Notes section here on Substack. I put out a last-minute request for other personal stories about getting tattoos. Some writers already had stories, some jumped on board and wrote them.

Thank you for reading! And to my lovely writer friends, thank you for coming to this party!

Some wonderful writers stepped up and jumped in. Here are the links to their stories:

Mary Roblyn

Writer, interrupted

Every Tattoo Tells a Story

Leah Eichler @ Esoterica Magazine

Tattoo Jew

Beth Riungu @ Whole Stories Shortly

Why I Got a Tattoo at My Age

Mesa Fama @ Let the Words Fall Out

Scars of My Choosing

Michele Peters @ Michele Peters Writes

A Late Bloomer

Deb Sinness @ Seasons of the Soul

Ink Linked: Our Mother-Daughter Tattoo Journey

Wake Lloire @

Whimsical Writing with Wake

My new tattoo

Breeann Adam @

Just Write Mama

Wildflowers

Shelley Durga Karpaty @ Spicy Soul Mama

Tattoos are Reminders of Healing and Growth

Jess Greenwood @ The Joy Luck Club

The Joy of Coming Full Circle

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