My Body is a Temple, and I Decorated It

Tattoos are a controversial form of self expression. It is something that I have fully taken advantage of since I turned 18. My first, second and third tattoos were meaningful and hidden. I was afraid, but still wanted to express myself. It's been five years of ink and needles, and I can proudly say that I love my body and all the modifications I've made to it.

Self love is a difficult thing. Everyone struggles with it in their own way. Growing up and even into adulthood, I was always told that my waist was so tiny or that I needed more meat on my bones. Some comments aren't meant to be rude, but it made me feel like I wasn't enough; that my body wasn't good enough. I've always been happy and healthy, but these sorts of remarks made me feel otherwise.

I got my first tattoo at 18. It was a linework piece for my late family dog on my ribs. He was my first dog, our first dog. My second and third I got at 19 on my birthday. They were linework carnations on each side of my hips. They were reminders that I am worthy of the simplest forms of love, as carnations are my favorite flower, and the most complex forms of love. They were also recognition of some traumas I had experienced in my teens, and this was my version of letting go of all that.

Since then, I've accumulated over 100 tattoos of varying sizes and complexity. My arms are decked out in different "stickers" and my legs have some larger pieces.

The question of if I regret any of my tattoos always puzzles me. It's as if the person asking wants me to have regrets for my tattoos. Unfortunately for them, I have no regrets and don't see myself having any ever. Why? My mindset: my tattoos are a part of my life I am living. The tattoos I got on my 19th birthday are a part of my past. The tattoo I got when going through a rough time is a part of myself. The tattoo I get for graduating college is a part of my future. It's all me, whether past, present or future.

Some have so much meaning, and some none at all.

That's the beauty of my tattoos. They're mine, and I don't need to explain them to anyone. They are important to me, and just make me the most raw, unedited version of myself. I am beautiful, educated, edgy, feminine; my tattoos do not define that for me, but contribute to the idea that is me. They have helped me in my journey of loving myself because I can express different points in my life and values right on my skin. Some may think that's atrocious and unnecessary, but I think it's beautiful.

Will my family member, who ignored me on my 19th birthday after getting my carnation tattoos, understand that? Will the old woman, who looked at me like I was the devil reincarnated, understand that feeling? Will the men on Tinder, who wanted to know "where the hidden tattoos were," understand the rawness? Maybe they will, maybe they won't.