As a preteen, the word “tattoo” struck anxiety into my mousy little heart. It was synonymous with the following words: “Pirate,” “Miscreant,” “Biker.” Why would anyone get inked up if they had a legitimate job to go to each day?
The day my eldest sister came home proudly displaying her tattoo of a hummingbird fluttering around a flower, I was in shock. She was an adult, but I felt scared for her … like she had done something so, so transformative that would negatively impact every facet of her life from then on out.
I was wrong, obviously.