It wasn’t a snap decision. The idea had been brewing for nearly a year, ever since I hit the big 4-0. It was part of a personal bucket list—a collection of experiences I had postponed due to concerns about others’ opinions. Who was I to think I could write a book? Do “good girls” really get tattoos? But now, as I crossed into my 40s, the relentless voice in my head saying “no one” and “no way” started to fade.
“Is this your midlife crisis?” a friend jokingly asked when I finally mentioned the tattoo plan. “Absolutely not!” I replied, perhaps a bit too quickly. But what is a midlife crisis, really? Is it the moment you realize you’ve spent years adhering to an unspoken playbook for adulthood, only to see your plans unravel? Is it about prioritizing others’ needs for so long that you forget your own? Or maybe it’s reflecting on past loves and closed doors, wondering if there are more opportunities ahead.
Perhaps it was a bit of all that. I mulled over designs for my tattoo, curating images on a secret Pinterest board. Yet, as my 40th year rolled on, I hesitated. Finally, as summer drew near, I knew it was time to act. I found an artist online whose work resonated with me and quickly scheduled a consultation.
Walking into the tattoo shop in my yoga pants, Starbucks in hand, I immediately felt out of place among the heavily inked and pierced staff. It was like that old Sesame Street skit—one of these things is not like the other. But when Tara, the artist I chose, approached me with a warm smile, my anxiety eased. She reviewed my sketches and listened to my ideas. Before I could second-guess myself, I placed a deposit, booked an appointment for a month later, and left feeling empowered.
In the weeks leading up to my appointment, doubt crept in. For someone who prefers to keep her feelings close to her chest, getting a tattoo felt both daring and audacious. Would my family approve? How would my friends react? What if it revealed something about me I wasn’t ready to share? Then I realized—who cares?
The most important lesson I’ve picked up over the last four decades is that no one is really paying that much attention to me. There isn’t a club dissecting my flaws, and most people are too wrapped up in their own lives. If someone does judge me, no amount of effort will change their mind.
So there I was, lying face down on a gray vinyl table, trying to breathe through the sting. “Is it worse than childbirth?” a fellow client asked. “Well,” I joked, “it won’t take as long.”
This led me to reframe my perspective. Yes, a tattoo is permanent, but so is the story written on my skin. I carry stretch marks from two pregnancies, scars from childhood mishaps, and memories of life’s challenges that can’t be seen. At least a tattoo is a mark I’m choosing for myself.
Tara shared a heartwarming story about her oldest client, a 76-year-old grandmother who got her first tattoo: an owl perched on a stack of pancakes. Known as Grandma Owl and Pancake Grandma in her family, she surprised them all at a reunion with her new ink. I loved that narrative; if she could do it, so could I.
Tara also mentioned she was about to tattoo her mother for the first time. I had kept my plans from my own mother, unsure of her reaction. I often tell my 11-year-old daughter to avoid actions she wouldn’t want me to know about, advice she echoed back with a hint of judgment when I first broached the subject. My 8-year-old son, however, was more accepting. “Fine,” he said, “but it’s going to hurt.”
In the days leading up to my appointment, I tried again to convince my daughter. She paused thoughtfully, “Mama, you know, you’re going to get old and wrinkly, and then your tattoo will look bad.” That gave me pause. Yes, I might regret this decision someday—maybe tomorrow, maybe in a few years, or even when I’m older and wrinkly. But I already have a stack of regrets—missed opportunities, hurt feelings, and overspent budgets. However, the pile labeled “things left undone” is getting smaller.
So I told her this, hoping it sticks with her: If my biggest regret when I’m gone is a tattoo, I will have lived a good life.
Summary
In my journey to get a tattoo at 40, I faced doubts but ultimately embraced the experience as a personal milestone. This decision was about celebrating my life rather than worrying about the judgments of others. It reflects a shift in perspective, where I prioritize my choices and embrace the marks of my journey, both seen and unseen.
Keyphrase: getting a tattoo at 40
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