No. 131: Let's Talk About the Time My Tattoo Quite Literally Disappeared

And what it taught me about choices

In this post:
+ the lesson I learned on the journey to my tattoo and…the lesson from the aftermath
+ links to every single movie and show in Mary-Kate & Ashley’s body of work thanks to a gold standard community member (!!)
+ the “no buy” chef that I didn’t know I needed
+ a very niche look into the nail polish I’m currently obsessed with for Spring

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Two years ago, I frantically turned off the volume on my phone to cut off a text alert mid chime. It was one of my best friends texting with passion, “your sister just said everyone in your family is getting a matching tattoo. DID YOU GET A TATTOO?!?!” The emphasis wasn’t due to excitement or judgement, no no. I could decipher the tone instantly—pure shock. Because if you know me, once I have decided something, that thing is decided now and for all time. It’s a safety mechanism for my brain. Decide once, they say.

Making decisions has always been deeply overstimulating for me. This used to be painfully frustrating to me as a person who was still stuck in the isolation of feeling like The Only Person In The World. It seemed like everyone I knew made a decision based on their desires while all of my own decisions were based on my fears. They chose what they wanted, I chose the option that ensured I’d avoid what I didn’t want. That is, of course, ridiculous. It could be said that I also made decisions based on what I wanted—safety, protection, peace—but all I can say is it didn’t feel that way.

So deciding I was not a tattoo person many years ago was a final decision. It was a choice that took less than thirty seconds to make and would never be revisited because it was a result of me knowing myself. I love the look of tattoos on other people and will sit fireside listening to the stories of the meaning behind tattoo after tattoo from with friends and strangers, but I knew it was a “great for you, not for me” moment. There is simply nothing I need to tell anyone or show anyone so constantly that I want it on my body.

So when my older sister sent a video in the group chat of a family going to get their birth order number tattooed on various body parts, I shuddered. Even my younger sister, the only other remaining sibling who was also tattoo free, was elated. Giddy, even. As GIFs and exclamation points rolled in by the thousands, I realized I was outnumbered. “Cheeto,” she said, “I know this is your nightmare and you likely won’t be on board, but this is really important to me.”

And there it was. All the information before me, the paradox of my nightmares. You doing this thing that you are equal parts afraid of and decidedly unwilling to do is very important to us. Ball’s in your court.