This week I got my first tattoo, an almond blossom bough: white flowers, coral-red center\u2014<\/p>\n
\u201cLook at this picture online,\u201d said Roni Falgout, legendary artist I had waited months to work with, \u201cThe center of the blossom has some yellow in it too, even streaks of green\u2014\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201cBeautiful, \u201c I said, \u201cYou\u2019re the artist.\u201d<\/p>\n
Yes, and, she emphasized, this was about me. Every aspect had to be precisely what I wanted: color, form, positioning of the design in relation to the scar from my left breast mastectomy.\u00a0 I felt proud to join a growing legion of women who find beauty, value, and self worth in celebrating their bodies as they are, <\/em>rather than opting for artificial implants that conform to a cultural and often male-centric image of female beauty. Not to demonize women who choose reconstruction. It is a powerful choice for many women. Not for me.<\/p>\n \u201cNew growth from damaged soil,\u201d I told Roni at our first consultation. I had clipped a bough from the pear tree in my back yard and photographed it on my left breast. \u201cLike this, only with almond blossoms,\u201d I had said.<\/p>\n \u201cWhy almond?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt means Hope and Awakening.\u201d\u00a0 It is also a symbol from my play, On the<\/em> Doorstep of the Castle,<\/em> signifying feminine freedom to claim your unique value and destiny.<\/p>\n This all sounds very fine and lofty, but when the day came to actually ink the tattoo, I was terrified. I was knocked out for the mastectomy surgery\u2014I would be wide awake for this one!<\/p>\n \u201cIt will really hurt,\u201d said my oldest daughter, who sports three tattoos.<\/p>\n \u201cI can\u2019t believe you\u2019re doing this,\u201d said my husband, who has no tattoos, \u201cIt will be excruciating.\u201d<\/p>\n My youngest daughter, bereft of tattoos, simply looked at me out of the corner of her eyes and whistled.<\/p>\n Roni also looked at me out of the corner of her eyes, but she smiled, \u201cIt\u2019s 90% mental. You\u2019ll be fine.\u201d<\/p>\n And I was. It hurt, but like one continuous bee sting. I soon abandoned my meditative coping strategy and started sharing stories with Roni. We laughed so much I was afraid all my giggling body would disrupt the tattoo. It didn\u2019t.<\/p>\n At one point it suddenly hurt a lot more, like the pen was going all the way through my body.<\/p>\n \u201cWhere are you?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n \u201cRight over the scar. You ok?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah\u2014\u201c I whispered, \u201cI can do this\u2026\u201d I slowed my breath, picturing the color she was putting on the leaves. Earlier she had asked if I wanted to go with lime green, \u201cOr, I can do this darker, antique-y, avocado color\u2014\u201c<\/p>\n \u201cRoni, I\u2019m already an antique.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cLime green, then,\u201d she chuckled.<\/p>\n It was all over in an hour and a half. Since then I\u2019ve been learning about aftercare for a new tattoo, and I feel a simple joy each morning when I look in the mirror: that such a beautiful, permanent thing could emerge from a part of me that was permanently taken away\u2026..<\/p>\n A final surprise: I feel connected to every blossom I see. I pick up a leaf in the park and feel as if I\u2019m holding a part of myself in my hand.\u00a0 I have always loved nature, but now, I am no longer a passive observer. I am <\/em>nature.<\/p>\n It has also shifted my experience of grief and loss. Those whom I love, who have passed back into the mystery of nature, \u00a0now feel in <\/em>me, as never before. And my own mortality is not frightening. The leaf in my hand is not separate from the lime- colored leaf on my left breast. All one substance, in the palm of the divine.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" This week I got my first tattoo, an almond blossom bough: white flowers, coral-red center\u2014 \u201cLook at this picture online,\u201d said Roni Falgout, legendary artist I had waited months to work with, \u201cThe center of the blossom has some yellow … Continue reading