I rarely glance at my lower back tattoo, often referred to as a “tramp stamp,” a term that wasn’t in common use when I had it inked in my twenties. The colors remain vibrant, and I chuckle when I recall the day I got it, particularly my friend’s reaction to the expression on my face when the needle hit a particularly sensitive area. This tattoo marks a chaotic period in my life, characterized by impulsive decisions. Although I seldom reflect on that time, I appreciate having that chapter as part of my history.
My six silver hoop earrings still adorn my ears, and I enjoy coordinating my jewelry with them. I frequently swap out the two traditional earrings in my lobes, but the hoops in my cartilage remain constant. Occasionally, I contemplate whether it’s time to remove them, questioning if I’ve outgrown the look of eight earrings. However, I’ve been adding to these piercings since I was 12, starting with my first mall earrings and later getting cartilage piercings at a tattoo shop in Georgetown. I’m not ready to part with them just yet.
My navel ring has been removed. I managed to keep it through my first pregnancy with a flexible piece of jewelry, but I took it out before my emergency C-section. While I miss that symbol of my twenties, I now see the delicate silver scars from the significant events of my thirties—the surgeries that welcomed my children into the world.
Each morning, I examine my face. I’ve always worn makeup, allowing me to engage with my features and witness their changes. Last year, driven by vanity, I consulted a cosmetic dermatologist to address the noticeable droop in my left eye. A touch of Botox restored some symmetry, a fleeting attempt to recapture the appearance of youth. Despite this, I now have a network of fine lines around my eyes that don’t disappear even when my face is at rest. There are shadows in the creases between my mouth and nose that I can soften using specific Instagram filters, but not in reality. I could ask my Botox provider for advice on filling in these gaps and tightening the loose skin, but it feels simpler to smile more, concealing the lines with joy.
My body serves as a map of my life, with marks from my teenage years, my twenties, and my thirties. I have inked memories and emotions into my skin over the years. Now, as I navigate my forties, nature is leaving its own impressions where once piercers and tattoo artists left their marks. You can see evidence of the moments I squinted at my son’s first soccer game, laughed at my daughter’s attempts to sing Disney songs, and shed tears when my grandparents passed away. The softened skin of my hands holds the memory of my husband placing rings on my fingers. Time’s fingerprints coalesce with ink and metal, telling an equally precious story. I’m not inclined to conceal this narrative.
I’m not ready to erase my past. I will preserve my tattoos, earrings, scars, and wrinkles—the map of my journey thus far.
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Summary
This article reflects on how physical changes in one’s body can symbolize the journey through various life stages. From tattoos to scars, each mark tells a story of personal growth, experiences, and the passage of time. Embracing these changes is essential, as they collectively narrate a life well-lived.
Keyphrase: Life journey through body changes
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