I started getting tattoos when I was 20. I really, really needed a reason to love myself, and the only way to do that was to put something, permanently, onto my skin that I thought was beautiful.
Man, did it work. Even on the worst day, the no-reflective-surfaces-allowed days, I had that tattoo, that beautiful piece of MY skin. Of ME. And that made all the difference.
It was such a gift--that first, small piece--and I owe it (and its artist) so much, that I honored it (and my body) with more work until I could love another piece, and another, bit by bit. Eventually, all of these smaller pieces couldn't help but form a patchwork, a map of sorts, by which I could trace my journey of love, of acceptance. They are my crossroads, my landmarks, my little lighthouses, reminding me that there was once a time much harder than this, that I was once so young and somehow saved by this art.
And now I honor that journey further--every time I forge a difficult part of this mad life or fall aw...
Social media has helped us connect in myriad, incalculable ways.
I like to think of this as a good thing. It *is* a good thing. It is our platform for change, a solution to loneliness, to isolation, and a stellar tribe-finding tool.
But, like everything else, it has its temptations.
Don't change your story. Don't become more "beautiful" on a screen than you are in physical, manifested life, because you can't be--nothing can replace the breathtaking wonder that you are, in the flesh, in the voice, in the powerful force of your own two feet meeting this earth.
Know what your tools are, and know how to use them.
But don't think a picture of a hammer is going to build you a house.