Trigger Warning: Self harm, suicide, abuse.
I didn’t expect the feelings I felt as I watched this old tattoo on my wrist disappear…
I felt a little choked up.
I felt a little freedom.
I felt ready to move forward.
I also felt sad as old memories flooded me, I found myself reaching back to comfort those past versions of myself as they crumbled in my memories, each in such different phases of life.
“Thank you for getting me here. We’re good. We made it through. We’re so strong. I love you.”
On the surface, this was just one of my earliest tattoos that wasn’t very good, the French lettering was spelled wrong, but the intention of the original tattoo was, “Let Go.”
Before I got this tattoo, a phone call interrupted one of my self harm sessions. I was sitting on the floor flirting with the idea of going deeper.
So tired of pretending.
So tired of shape shifting.
I felt so caged.
I was born and raised to be fearful and my fear of death held me in check. This practice helped me find a release in a world where I had to keep every natural thing about myself on lock, unless they were considered “acceptable” behavior or “proper” feelings.
– Shut it down unless it’s nice –
We’ve all felt this.
When that call came through, I received the news that my friend had felt the same, only he escaped this life. After he passed away, I vowed to myself to stop self harming. I got this tattoo and kept that promise to myself for several years…
During the worst year of my life, I found myself sitting on the floor in the kitchen. Hardly able to see through blurry tears, holding a shard of glass from my broken coffee pot after it had been smashed. I felt empty, hopeless, and like I could never recover or reclaim my life as my own. I felt entirely out of control, I felt owned by an abusive partner. I started to dig the glass into my wrist and push deeper when Ava’s face popped into my mind. Things were always the worst whenever she was away at her dad’s. “Thank goodness.” I contemplated that she would be safe and taken care of and I kept pushing and slashing the glass deeper still; scaring my tattoo and breaking my early promise to myself. This broken promise was interrupted by accusations that I was just being dramatic and mockery for, “doing it wrong.”
When I look back at the girl, lost and alone on both occasions; I remember her hopelessness, I feel her pain, and I remember what it felt like to be powerless.
I do not feel powerless today. I do not feel caged, I feel free.
I feel liberated by the closing of that chapter in my life. I know who I am, where I’m going, and who’s on my team. Every struggle is a metamorphosis for something.
And I’m starting to realize that I can fucking fly.
So can you.
You are writing your own story, if you’re not happy with the way things are, how can you change it? What needs to be burned to the ground? What quenches your thirst for life? What feeds your soul? Get clear on the things that drain you and the things that save you. You’re not here to people please and be nice all the time. We’ve all had to simply survive at one point or the other; but we can build, we can heal, we can elevate, and we can grow.
Grow with me. If you’d like to dive deeper, contact me! I have 1:1 coaching client spaces available, as well as my soul sister workshop; Vintage Wild Soul, a causal place to find and create epic support within a safe space.
I love you so much.