First of all and as a matter of fact, I’m a shy person and an introvert by nature. Maybe it has something to do with being bullied during high school because I get severely anxious when any form of attention is shown to me. Before high school, I was pretty much a very regular school girl who had lots of friends in a clique and was involved in virtually all the school activities. I didn’t mind making mistakes and getting mocked for it in front of my peers, I didn’t mind wearing not so pristine school uniform and being corrected for it. Surely, I didn’t mind bringing lunch box filled with the food I and everyone else hated because my mum made it and I had no choice. I didn’t care if I wobbled with words and in so doing, mixed a present tense with past tense and vice-versa during conversations. My nickname one time was “it touches me” and this was the aftermath of when I had to tell the then-furious teacher something that affected me. Nothing bothered me so to speak.
Fast forward to high school. The “didn’ts” transformed suddenly to the “did”.
I became the total opposite. Someone extremely sensitive who cared too much about everything; ranging from the need to be friends with people who were not interested, to being a kiss-ass in order to get them to like me which was all to no avail. I suddenly despised the idea of getting noticed, worse more, making mistakes and being mocked for it. I hated my name Comet because I was mocked for its uniqueness. I hated standing out whether for good or bad deeds. In essence, my self esteem and confidence were to the minus one (-1) basement level.
A self explanatory example to how much I loathed standing out was one of my visiting days in school then. My mum had gotten me a special day wear different from the rest of the students’. It was one of a kind; a beautiful “feather”pleated gown except without actual feathers as opposed to the usual box pleated gown everyone else wore. I never understood its value neither did I attempt wearing it. At a point, surrounding students who happened to see the neatly folded day wear in my locker (2 sets) questioned why and without much understanding, called me a foolish hoarder. I only got to wear the day wear in the end, when others learnt about that and begun making theirs similarly. That way, I didn’t stand out nor did I get any credits.
I didn’t have a voice, I didn’t know what it felt like to have one, to stand up for myself. I couldn’t cry nor complain. I was in pain yet numb. I couldn’t express.
Yet
I had the “balls” to get tattoos done. Not one, not two and not three wowza! At first, I was incognizant about what I was actually getting myself into in respect to tattoos being permanent because I preferred to enjoy the thrill of doing something out of my comfort zone for the first time.
Yeah right!, Comet. With an orchid. Yes. My name was the first tattoo I got on my forearm. A rather visible area too, coming from someone who had played invisible for the past 6–8 years on average (during and after high school). Can I get another wow!.
Getting my first few tattoos broke the norm for me
First of all, tattooing my “much weirdly unique” name Comet on my arm and other ones in much visible areas of my body, for me, was the “breaking dawn”. I could finally do something on my own in the open, something inherently controversial, without much back and forth thoughts of the fear that comes with it. I could not only say my name now but show it for the world to see. That I am unique and a shining star, that my make really is not of this world but beyond. I could finally break grounds with showcasing the beautiful thoughts and joy of a first grandchild my grandma had when she named me Comet.
But of course I was ready.
My tattoos removed me from my reclusive nature as it forced me to communicate as well as be communicated to
Coming from someone who couldn’t bear to be complimented, mocked or be shown attention to, you would agree with me that getting about seven tattoos done and still counting is a phenomenal, yet much needed paradox which transformed my life Why? Because tattoos expose you to people, it is an attention triggering element of beauty/arts where you are bound to get judged, complimented (for those who appreciate it) or even getting stared at.
My tattoos have served as an ice breaker in moments during conversations. Questions like; what does your tattoo say?, what does it mean and generally appreciating it. I have received mixed reactions from people over my tattoos most of which were good and in turn, made me feel good about myself and the decision I made even if it lasted for that day. This confirms the scientific research by Kosh and Owen who found a strong correlation between tattoos and the level of self esteem and confidence.
Getting my tattoos done in different parts of my body enabled me magnify my unspoken voice and express myself
Each tattoo connotes different meanings. I have been able to use this medium to express my feelings and in a permanent way too. Words and feelings that I never considered sharing or expressing. I have a “Family First” tattoo at the back of my wrist which shows how much value I place on my family despite all odds. I also have a quote on my shoulder that reads “To be Beautiful means to Be Yourself” which expresses how much over the years, I yearned to be myself and to appreciate it knowing that there’s beauty in it (self esteem). I’ve got another one; a powerful lotus flower depicting resilience from all the bully and shit life has thrown my way. Tattoos, whether noticed or not, enabled me break the inexpressible barriers by connecting with myself, to learn my true purpose and by so doing, connecting with others.
What am I trying to say?
Tattoos may not be the best approach to use in expressing your feelings, thoughts or words like it did for me but it’s all about finding what works for you. First, you need to be willing to break loose from the chains of reclusion, self pity, backward thinking and the thoughts of being a failure because guess what, you are the only one who can define yourself those ways. You are way more than the formed opinions or definitions from a bunch of bullies or any other incapacitated situation you may have found yourself in.
Refuse to let the ugly past get hold of you and cripple your mind from letting you move forward. Find a medium to relay your message for the world to hear, see and learn. Exercise, join a boxing class, see a therapist, get a tattoo, talk loud to yourself in front of the bathroom mirror- I found this helpful as I get to hear my thoughts and make more sense out of it. Bunch of judgmental comments from strangers or the fear of being criticized should not mar your efforts to expressing yourself because the worst feeling is allowing your ill feelings bottled up either way. So, suck it all up as difficult as it may.
You’d be better off doing these or be prepared to become a passive-aggressive resentful person. I’d choose the former. You?
