by TARA CARTLAND
I was far more nervous about my second tattoo than my first, and it took me a long time to figure out why. All the apprehension I had when I went in for the first time – questions of pain, regret, family approval – were, I think, pretty standard things you feel mildly obliged to worry about; and they all faded away as soon as my tattoo artist started, never to return. I thought the lead up to my second would be anxiety free.
The difference between the two tattoos is this: the first is on my back; the second on my upper arm. That is, pretty clearly visible, especially on formal occasions (which come up a bit at my work). I knew, after I got my first tattoo, that I loved it and I loved the tattoo aesthetic. I knew that I wanted more. I had – or have – rarely been so certain of things that can’t be taken back. But there was some part of me didn’t want other people to know that.
It can be hard for a woman to assert ownership of her body. We grow up in a world in which our bodies are battlegrounds: politically, religiously, ideologically, and to differing extents all over the world. I think we become aware very early on that there are people out there who dispute our claim to have control over our own bodies, concerning everything from our right to choose, to how we present ourselves in public, to our sexual habits and inclinations.
I don’t mean to compare hesitation to get a tattoo with the struggle for reproductive rights, suffrage, freedom from violence, or any of the other (far more pressing) concerns for women around the world. But I do mean to suggest that they are in some small way connected, through the sometimes unconscious processes of socialisation.