I have a story to tell.

Many stories, in fact. As a writer, I could try to put my stories into words until my hands cramp and my memories fade. More recently, I decided to tell my stories in another way—tattoos. I got my first tattoo a little after my nineteenth birthday. I cannot say that it was something that I had contemplated for years, dreaming of the day when I would be able to get this exact tattoo. In fact, I had gotten this tattoo within a month of deciding that I wanted it.

You can call me irresponsible, but I call it passionate. Bold. Daring.

And so, after a little road trip and a small chunk of change, I ended up with a compass rose.

I have an undeniable attachment to my hometown. After growing up in the same house on the same dead-end backroad in the same small town for the first 18 years of my life, I thought that I wanted to get away. As soon as I left for college, however, I realized just how much of an influence my hometown had on shaping my identity, how much it truly meant to me. I decided on the compass rose to represent my desire to explore and wander, but chose to pay tribute to my hometown by including the coordinates. No matter where I go, I have a place to come home to, a sense of direction when all else seems so unclear. Although travelling and wandering are my passions, home truly is where the heart is, and I will have a piece of home with me no matter where life takes me.

After I had gotten this first tattoo, I understood what all the hype was about. To me, this was more than just the result of a needle and some ink embedded into my skin. This was my way to represent myself, my beliefs, my opinions, my desires. My body was once a blank canvas, begging to be used, and I had finally begun to tell my story.

Needless to say, I got my second tattoo last week, almost a year after I had gotten the compass rose.

“Never grow a wishbone, daughter, where your backbone ought to be.”

This quote by Clementine Paddleford is one that has gotten me through some tough times throughout my life. Whenever I am feeling as though I want things to be different, I remind myself that I can only wish for so much; until I muster up the courage and strength to actively participate in life, whatever I wish for is merely that—a wish, something almost whimsical and out of reach. In order to flourish, we must find our backbones and work for what we want.

I tell you to judge me by my tattoos because I chose them for a reason; I want to be defined by what I put on my body. My tattoos hold significance, for they are a constant reminder of what it is that keeps me grounded and keeps me going. I respect the opinions and beliefs of others, but I too ask for their respect if they do not agree with my decisions. I know that getting a tattoo can be a perilous move, especially considering going into the workforce after college. As someone whose major revolves around the freedom of speech and expression, this verbal manifestation of self, I refuse to limit myself and my expression. And so, as I will continue to add to my collection, I encourage you to do the same if you desire it. Just remember to be mindful with your choices, and to remember that you will be judged for your ink—so be it.

“Getting ink felt right, like it would help her put her life in order, to move forwards. It was her body, despite the things that'd been done to it, and she wanted to claim it, to own it, to prove that to herself. She knew it wasn't magic, but the idea of writing her own identity felt like the closest she could get to reclaiming her life. Sometimes there's power in the act; sometimes there's strength in words. She wanted to find an image that represented those things she was feeling, to etch it on her skin as tangible proof of her decision to change.” –Melissa Marr, Ink Exchange