I love tattoos. Not all tattoos, mind you, but most. Especially when they tell a story. I love good stories.
I have used this blog to chronicle my version, of my story for over a year now. I have lived through my story for two years. The good days, the bad days, and the hundreds of in between days. I have met amazing people, and I have learned so much insight into the hearts and minds of others. And learned more than I can even find the time to write about myself. On a few occasions, I have thought that perhaps I had found closure, but a day or two would go by, and the little voices would start nagging at me again, or an email would come through and the emotions would kick back up again.
Right now, I am supposed to be writing this amazing series of posts on the discovery I have been given on my AParents true feelings and true motives. I have posts 75% done, and every time I sit down to finish them, I think "WHY? It will change nothing!" It is draining. It is pointless. It takes time away from my "real life". And then I remember...I didn't start writing this blog for them...I started it for me. It is a lesson plan in open adoption. Its blessings, its curses, and I know more than a few of you have learned over the year what NOT to do in certain situations. Anytime an adoptive parent writes me to tell me they learned something valuable, I smile. Anytime a birthmother writes me to say she can relate, or that I have successfully put into words something she can only feel, my heart feels full. But mainly, it is here for me to vent, to learn, and to grow through a journey I never envisioned myself being on. And right, wrong, or indifferent...there has been a lot of pain, and it sucks. No way to sugar coat that. We, as human beings, don't want to feel pain, or suffering, and so we run from it, avoid it, supress it, or ignore it. Especially when that pain is inflicted on us, without our consent, from other individuals.
A little while ago, I made the consious decision to look pain straight in the face, and to see who the better man was. I felt the overwhelming need to memorialize my journey in the way of a tattoo. There is a poem, called "The Stolen Child" by William Butler Yeats that has nothing to do with adoption (or does it?) that was written many years ago. It has the following verse in it:
"Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand."
For a long time, I thought I would tattoo that verse on me, along with a big fairy holding a human baby. But recently, as I read more and more about adoption...especially the adoptee blogs, it didn't seem like a "right fit" for what I was feeling. Several months ago, I was reintroduced to a talented young lady from high school, who now sells her amazing custom designs. I actually showcased her fantastic work in this post. (Click Here!!!) I asked her permission to tattoo one of her designs on me, and thankfully she said yes. Perr took two of my most favorite designs and turned them into an amazing hybrid of love, pregnancy, and my scarlett letter. I loved it, and into the car we went...off to burn into my skin what was already burning through my heart.
He started with the stencil, and told me how important it was NOT to move, since I had chosen to not do an outline on the tattoo. I wanted it feminine, delicate, and the black outline would have taken away from the artistic aspect of the design. When the needle came out, I shivered. And then I remembered that I was in control of this experience. I was inflicting the pain on myself (although he was a darn good proxy), and that I needed to focus. He tried, one last time to talk me out of the placement on my foot, saying that my back or my shoulder would hurt much less, and I told him I wanted it where I could see it daily...where it would hurt the most going on, and be the most healing going forward. That the only thing I have to stand on is my own two feet...LOL...and that I was sure that's where I wanted it.