The first time I got a tattoo, I was on the Wildwood Boardwalk in New Jersey with my best friend. I just turned 19, and rather impulsively decided I needed some ink.
We both got a tiny nautical star tattoo on our feet — and from the second that needle touched my skin, I knew I was hooked.
What I didn't anticipate was how my body art would play a major role in me learning to love myself.
Ask anyone with ink and they will straight up tell you it is addictive.
I followed up my star with a tattoo of a swallow on my opposite foot — and my placement choice was very intentional.
I knew I loved tattoos, but was only willing to get them in places I was ok with people noticing. As a plus-size girl who loathed every inch of her body, I felt feet were the most "inoffensive" space to place them.
Two foot tattoos later, and I was faced with a conundrum. I knew I wanted more tattoos, but I had quickly run out of spaces to put them where I felt were OK to look at.
So I set a goal: In order to get more tattoos, I would have to lose weight. I planned it out in detail. I'd get a big, beautiful tattoo on my thigh and I'd finally be able to rock my short shorts with pride.
Looking back, I had plenty of other motivators to lose weight, and every single one was terrible.
It wasn't about getting my body "healthy" — it was about getting it to look socially acceptable.
I dieted, lost and gained weight rapidly, and no matter what I did or who told me I was beautiful, I still hated myself.
Three years later, I was no thinner — but still really wanted my tattoo.
So I said "FUCK IT," and got my thigh tattoo anyway — weight loss be damned!
With my fat thighs that had no gap to speak of, I sat myself down in my artist's chair and asked her to tattoo an illustration and modified quote from my favorite childhood book, "Alice in Wonderland."
I was terrified she'd take one look at my thighs and tell me to piss off, but she did the furthest thing from that. Sheena, my current and only artist, pressed the needle into my fat thighs as if that artwork had always belonged there, assuring me that it would look incredible on me.
When she finished, I was glowing.
I wore shorts unapologetically for the first time that summer.
I may not have felt 100% secure about my thighs, but I did love the artwork I rocked.
And this created the most incredible change in me: I began to love the parts of my body I'd always been told to hide.
My flabby arms slowly acquired more tattoos, too — and I learned to fully embrace them.
The desire to show off my tattoos meant that I wore tank tops for the first time — something that felt incredibly liberating.
I even got a little kiss to remind myself to love myself unconditionally.
The desire to show off my tattoos gave me the confidence to FINALLY wear what I actually wanted!
No more hiding my body in nothing but jeans and cardigans for this tattooed babe!
I never expected my tattoos to play such a massive role in my self-love journey — but they really have.
I've taken selfies, dyed my hair goofy colors, and even bared my body in a boudoir shoot — but my tattoos played a huge role in each of those adventures. By putting art on my body, I learned that my body itself is a work of art.
If my body is my house, tattoos have made it a home.
Nobody *needs* tattoos to like themselves, but for me, decorating my body has helped me love it truly, madly, deeply. With ink, you cannot hide or shrink away from the world — I'm finally demanding the attention that is my due.
My tattoos are a permanent reminder that I am a beautiful badass, that I get to define that beauty any way that I want, and that my body TRULY deserves to be seen.
