From an early age, I consistently heard the warnings about tattoos: you won’t get a job if you have tattoos, you’ll regret it when you’re older, people will judge you. I’ve known for a very long time that there was a strong social stigma surrounding tattoos, but, despite all that, I still chose to get my first two just weeks after my eighteenth birthday.

My first tattoo was a simple sun on my forearm, directly followed by a few important dates on my wrist; I got two in one day because I was too excited to wait. It hurt--I won’t deny that--but it was worth it. I felt powerful. I felt cool. I felt accomplished. Months of saving and planning had paid off in a truly visible way.

But my excitement wore off, because I quickly noticed strangers’ new perceptions of me.

People would stare at my arms on the streets or at work. I’d catch the older ladies in the diner table next to me glancing at my wrist and exchanging whispers. I loved my tattoos, for personal reasons and because they just looked super rad. But, for some reason, I was starting to feel ashamed of having them. I’d wear long sleeve shirts at work so customers wouldn’t stare. Bracelets became my new favorite accessory. I covered up, not because I wanted to but because I felt I had too.

Tattoos are no longer exclusively adorned by social deviants, criminals and bad boys who ride motorcycles. In fact, it’s more common now to have a tattoo then to not have one. Regardless of the increase in popularity of tattoos, those with tattoos often still feel stigmatized by those without. Tattoos are a common way for individuals to express their individuality and ideas that words could not do justice.

I grew up around tattoos. My grandfather has some. My sister has five. One of my friends had too many to count. I guess because I was so exposed to them throughout my life, I never thought they were abnormal. I never thought of people with tattoos as deviants or thugs or screw-ups. I never really thought anything of them, because it wasn’t my business.

Going hand in hand with tattoo prejudice are the endless questions strangers ask about your ink. The fun part about working as a cashier in a grocery store is that you meet new people--lots of them. I interact with people from all walks of life on a daily basis. I’ve had various reactions to my tattoos, both good and bad.

I had an older lady take notice of the dates on my wrist. She started up a conversation about tattoos, and in the kindest manner possible said, “I’m sure those have significant meaning to you and it’s not my place to ask you to reveal that.” Thank you was all I could say to her.

I had a young paramedic glance at my arm while I loaded bags of groceries into his cart and say “are those real.” I said yes and he said they were cool. End of yet another conversation about my tattoos.

I had a man with his girlfriend come through my line and he made jokes about the numbers on my wrist being the answers to a test I was cheating on. I only smiled uncomfortably because if I told him what they really were I knew he’d feel terrible.

I had a woman, about my mother’s age, start the dialog between customer and worker with “you don’t have any tattoos do you?” Because two of mine were clearly visible, I glanced down at them and responded “I have four.” She stayed silent for the remainder of the transaction.

I never cared if anyone asks what the meanings behind my tattoos are. I actually like for people to know and it doesn’t bother me sharing stories. As long as you ask, I’ll tell you. But I am sick of being judged because I chose to get an image permanently etched into my skin. Judging someone for having a tattoo is judging them based on their appearance, and that is something that we are taught not to do from a very young age. Why does this concept of judging someone based on their character and not their looks not apply to tattoos?

You may not like tattoos and that’s perfectly fine. You may be covered head to toe in ink and that’s fine too. But to me, tattoos are a beautiful art form, and my canvas is my body. Nothing that anyone says or does is going to change the way I feel about my ink. My body is my own and I’m proud of my tattoos, so please save your rant about my decisions for someone else.