Beauty from Ashes

I have a whole new perspective on life. Before I sat in the judgment seat, not the one being judged, but the one judging. That’s hard to say, but it’s true. I think we all find ourselves in that seat every once in awhile. But I think I sat there because I didn’t understand. Do you ever finish a task and then add it to the list so you can check it off? Do you ever just need to write something down so you will remember it, not just typing it in your phone, but pen to paper? The truth is that’s kind of what tattoos are for me. They tell a story. They are the final checkmark. I got my first tattoo when I was 19. Most people didn’t know I had one. Actually my sister and I have matching tattoos in honor of our mother. It’s a cross with a heart and breast cancer symbol. She had just beat breast cancer and she had survived open heart surgery and she believed in Jesus. I always wanted to get more, but never did, until last year.

After running from my pain and in all honesty I never let myself really feel it. But once I faced it, it hurt. And I faced more pain, it just never felt like it would stop. I’m going to get real for a second. The pain was so overwhelming at times that I didn’t want to go on anymore. I didn’t want to get out of bed. I wanted to stop crying, but I couldn’t. Sometimes I could barely breath. I wanted the pain to stop. I tried to find ways to deal with it and it helped a little, but then I would be hit with it again and I find myself back in the same place I started. The one thing that always caused me to struggle was that my pain was internal. No one could see I was suffering. It wasn’t an external injury like a car accident, but that’s how I felt inside, like I had been run over by a bus. I never really understood mental illness before, but I think this is a small glimpse into the struggles people face. I get it a little now. I don’t want to pretend that my problems are as bad or worse than someone else, but man did it knock me down and drag me to a place I have never been before. There were times that I just wanted to feel like I was alive (I was able to recognize that I needed deep pressure. I needed the biggest bear hug so that I could feel something). Sometimes I would lean against my seat belt so I could feel something holding me back. I don’t say any of this for sympathy, but to just say we all struggle and sometimes we don’t know that others are wounded, because we can’t see it. But I’ve learned that just because we can’t see other’s pain, doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.

My first tattoo I got last year is forgive in braille. I felt that I had been blinded to forgiveness. That I held on to resentment towards my mother’s death and I wanted to let go once and for all and it is a constant reminder that I need forgiveness just as much as I need to extend it to others when I feel offended or wronged. Then once I had really faced my pain about my mother’s death I finally got the tattoo I always wanted, but never did. Actually Ashley and I had been talking about it for awhile, we just never did it. It was a healing experience. Now I smile when I see her hand writing on my arms. The pain I felt inside I felt on the outside. And the pain has lead to beauty. Now I want to let the inner beauty that the pain I experienced produced to come out. I want to see it. And it reminds me that I have to lean into the pain. I can’t run away from it anymore. Personally my tattoos are my reminder of what I have been through. Not that the pain and suffering hasn’t been brought to the cross, but it’s the internal scars brought out to the surface. I don’t begin to believe everyone will understand that, but it’s the peace I have about my journey. And I know the stigma they carry, but I had already lived my life in fear of that and I know that if I was able to get out of the judgment seat so could others. And I hope that people can appreciate the beauty from ashes that I see.