Dear Everyone Who Judges My Tattoos,

I understand. I get it. You were raised in a time where tattoos were practically taboo. 'Circus Freaks' or 'Thugs' were the only ones who had tattoos. I know it's different and different things are scary. No one wants things to change, especially the 'good ole days.' I know you think it makes me look less professional. I know you think it will make it impossible for me to have a job or lover. I get it.

However, did you know that 1 in 5 people have at least one tattoo now? Don't you think times might have to change if any business plans on staying open if they're solely focused on making sure their employees don't have tattoos? Do tattoos really determine my intelligence or ability to do a job that I've been equally trained in doing as every clear-skinned person around me? A doctor with a tattoo remembering his favorite grandmother is just as capable as the man beside him with no tattoos.

More importantly, do you know what tattoos mean to me? They're not just art for me. They're a refuge, covering skin I once tore apart because of my own self hatred. They give me a reason to not harm myself -- I spent money on that skin. Every tattoo I have has meaning to me, none more than the heartbeat line and semicolon on my wrist, the one spot I wanted destroyed when I was younger. It's a reminder to keep going; to never give up on my life.

I won't ever regret my tattoos. I know you think I will when I'm 60. You know what I will regret? Ever letting anyone tell me how I should feel about my body. I'm too fat. I'm too short. My tattoos are terrible. My hair is too short. I'm not good enough to meet your standards of what a girl is supposed to look like. That's okay. You know why? Because I love myself. I love my hair, my tattoos, my height. I'm working on loving my body, despite my weight. I want to be healthy, not skinny. I will regret spending 18 years of my life basing my worth on what my family or peers thought of me. Especially my family. I will regret laying awake at night and crying because I let my family's words get to me. Of course, I have supportive family. Family who knows my intelligence and worth without basing it on my appearance. Family who knows that if they don't have something nice to say, there's no reason to say it at all. What are you gaining? Are you somehow living vicariously through me, in a way that every choice I make drastically changes your day to day life?

I regret letting other's words influence me. I regret not believing in myself. But you know what? Tattoos gave me control of my body. Every time I place a tattoo on a part of my body that I would never otherwise show before, I regain control of my self hatred and rebuild my self esteem. I show off my skin, because I deserve to. I deserve to exist instead of hiding behind hoodies and baggy jeans. If I want to grow my hair out or cut it off, get a full arm sleeve of tattoos or a tiny one behind my ear, It's my choice. I'm sorry you don't understand. I'm sorry you think you have direct control over my body. For a while, you did. Maybe it's my fault for letting you believe that for so long. My hair, my skin, my body.

So, thank you. Thank you for the wake up call. Thank you for reminding me that my worth is not based on anyone else's opinion of me except my own. Thank you for berating me for years. For having to mention my hair every time you could. Thank you for scowling at my tattoos. Thank you for questioning my clothing choices. Thank you for never asking about my mental health.

Thank you. Without your criticisms, I wouldn't have learned to love myself.