A few months ago, I found myself with a little time on my hands. Being a working mom and student, this does not happen very often. Most people would take this time to relax at home and catch up on some Netflix, clean, or run errands, but I somehow landed myself at a local tattoo shop. You see, I have a very long list of tattoos I would like to get at some point in my life, so I figured, why not check one of the list? I decided to go with two words that have been heavy on my heart for the past 2 years; "Stay Wild". I loved the placement and the way it turned out. The lettering was beautiful and he even added extra swirls and some white to make the black letters pop. I was very excited to share this new addition to my tattoo collection, but to my surprise, I received quite a bit of criticism and backlash. "How could you stay wild if you were never wild in the first place". "Does this mean that you think you're badass?" "You're a mom; why would you get a tattoo about partying?" I would first like to state that I don't think that I need to explain myself to anyone. I believe that everyone has the right to have their own ways of coping, celebrating, and grieving. Some people journal, some people see a therapist, some people throw a party, I get tattoos. I love how they look, I love what they represent, and I love the permanency of carrying memories on my body for a lifetime. I am guilty of getting tattoos "just because", but this one holds so much meaning and purpose for me. I am sorry if the word "wild" only holds a meaning that involves alcohol to you, but that is not at all what it means to me. I have found two definitions of the word "wild" and love them both equally. "A free, or natural place, state, or existence." (Miriam-Webster Dictionary). "Uncontrolled or unrestrained, especially in pursuit of pleasure."(Cambridge Dictionary).

I was very blessed to have a wonderful upbringing. I had amazing parents, great friends, and I never felt any kind strain on my life. I felt free, safe, and that the world was mine and I could make whatever I wanted of my life. I worried very little about the opinions of others. If someone didn't like me, oh well. If I accidentally said something stupid, I would joyfully laugh at myself and move on with my day. I was always up for a spontaneous adventure to explore new places and meet new people. I had a big heart, I loved people, and I was very pleased with who I was. No, I was not perfect, but I accepted myself for me. I truly felt that I was "living the dream" and that nothing would ever stop me....except something did.

When I was 20 years old, I gave birth to my precious son, Nash. I was young, but so excited about being a mom. I knew it would be hard, but I have so many incredible women in my life who are fantastic moms, so I knew I could do it. The first few months were exhausting trying to figure out a sleep schedule, breast feeding, and everything else that comes along with a newborn. When Nash was about 4 months old, everything had seemed to fall into place and we had a good routine going. My best friend of 15 years had invited me out to dinner for her birthday, so of course I was going to go! My husband had no problem with me going out and encouraged me to have fun. The day before, I began to think about my plans for the next day and found myself with a very uneasy feeling. I had a pit in my stomach and it almost felt like I had literal weight on my shoulders. I had no idea why I was feeling this way, so I just carried on with my day. The next day I woke up with a feeling of pure panic. There was no way I could go out with my friends that night. I felt weird, alone, and that I would be unrelatable These girls had been my friends for my whole life, but I suddenly felt like they didn't know me anymore and I would be the odd one out. What if they judge me? What if they talk about me after I leave? What if they think I'm a bad mom for going out with them? I I knew that I needed to come up with an excuse to not go. I told my husband that I didn't feel good and didn't feel like going. He called BS and told me that I was going, because I needed to socialize with more people than a 4 month old baby. I went back and forth on whether I should go or not and the time everyone was meeting had already passed. I'm not sure how I even convinced myself to go, but I ended up in the car on my way to the restaurant. The entire ride there I questioned myself, panicked, and felt sick. I went to the dinner, skipped out on the after party, and was SO glad it was over with. The ride home consisted of me sobbing and hyperventilating, as I carried the evenings events heavily on my shoulders. Little did I know, this was just the start of MANY of these occasions.

This feeling quickly crept into my life and haunted me every day with the simplest of tasks. Making a phone call. What if there is an awkward pause? What if I don't know what to say? What if my voice sounds weird? So I quit answering my phone. I would watch it ring as I beat myself up for not having the courage to answer. Going to the grocery store/gas station. What if I see someone I know? What if we make awkward eye contact? What if I don't know what to say and make a fool of myself? What if I trip and fall? I avoided running errands at all costs. Every day was so flippin' hard. Any time I heard anyone talking quietly, I convinced myself that it was about me. If I felt that I said a word weird in a conversation or maybe made an odd facial expression, I literally thought about it for weeks. As a student, you receive a lot of constructive criticism. I could not handle the slightest bit of criticism that I received,being corrected , or being told I had room for improvement. Not because I thought I was perfect, but because I was embarrassed that I wasn't good enough for someone else. I struggled going to work, to school, and to attend family/friend functions. I just felt so different than everyone else. I could be in a room full of people that I had known and loved for many years, but still felt so alone and feared judgment. I turned into a major introvert who claimed to not like people. The girl who once couldn't stand to just sit at home and always felt the need to be "out and about", feared leaving her house and would feel angry if someone had the nerve to pull in her driveway. I would rush to get home after work and avoid as much social interaction as possible.I fought this battle very silently, because I was too embarrassed to tell anyone. I didn't want to be the mentally ill girl. I was never afraid to call into work when I had the flu or give a Facebook update about my broken bone, but why is it so scary to tell someone that your mind is sick? Anxiety had taken full control of my life. I felt like I was failing as a mom, a wife, a friend, and a person. I no longer felt free. I felt controlled by my constant worries and fears, and that there was a paralyzing strain on my life.

This story does not having a super happy ending (yet), because this is still an every day battle for me. I feel that I am doing much better than I was; the healing power of Jesus and medication can be a wonderful thing. I am slowly learning to talk myself through things and accept that my irrational fears are just that, irrational. When I do something that I see as embarrassing, I try to just move on and remind myself that everyone has so many things going on in their head, I highly doubt their entire day will be spent thinking about me. I have a supportive husband who tries to understand me and is constantly reminding me that I am a wonderful wife, mom, and that I am loved. I am learning to accept that I will never be the same girl I was before, but most of that is because I get to be a mama to a sweet little boy.

So all of this leads me back to why I got my tattoo. "Stay Wild" is my daily reminder that I am free from my mental illness, it does not have to control me, and it doesn't have to be a strain on my life. To put it bluntly, I see it as a big middle finger to my anxiety. It reminds me that it is okay to be myself and to be different. I do not have to fit specific stands to be a woman, a mom, or a Christian. I'm a little on the odd side, but that's okay! It sounds silly, but looking down at my feet and seeing those two little words helps me tremendously. I say it over and over in my head to talk myself down from feeling anxious in a situation. Stay free, stay different, stay me, stay unrestrained, stay wild. It is a permanent reminder that it is okay for me to be different and even though there are days where it feels that my mind is against me, I can still do anything that I set it to. Some people say that tattoos look gross when you get old, but this old lady will be looking down at the two black blobs on her ankles and remember the time she won the battle against my own mind. So to answer the question of one of my tattoo haters, yes, it does make me pretty bad ass!