Shrapnel through my lower lip. An open flesh wound surrounding a hollow, metal rod. Contrast this with the surgical precision the piercer used; one sharp pinch and then another. Snakebite piercings.
I found these two contrasts to be poetic—how this type of self-inflicted injury could also be a beautiful way to express yourself.
I’ve spent essentially all my life feeling uncomfortable in my own skin. Somehow, getting snakebites made me feel more like me. It had me asking the question: is it ever too late to find yourself?
I’m 35 and just went through a breakup in January that was a long-time coming. After 6 years, I feel like I can now be whoever I want. Though I wouldn’t say I lost myself, there’s a natural erosion of self that happens when you’re in a long-term relationship. Compromise is expected, of course, but you also have to consider how any of your actions or decisions might affect another person.
Now I don’t have that consideration.
And since I don’t, I got a Mohawk, hand tattoos, snakebites, and piercings in my ear lobes again.
Because of these jarring changes that were made so suddenly, I am getting a crash course in how to break my people-pleasing tendencies. How to say “fuck what anyone else thinks”. After all, I’m the one living my life. Who cares what anyone else thinks about it? And the truth is that some people might care.
Being yourself may make other people uncomfortable. I don’t just mean regarding piercings, tattoos, and haircuts. People will always find some reason to criticize or judge you. That doesn’t mean it’s valid criticism that you have to accept as fact. It’s just someone’s opinion.
I recently talked to a friend who told me she writes letters to her 80-year-old self. I love that. We definitely hear about talking to our younger selves and being someone that younger you would be proud of. I’ve decided I want to be someone that 80-year-old me would be proud of.
Someone who will protect her friends and family; someone who will always be there when you need her; someone who loves passionately; someone who doesn’t care what others think of her actions and decisions. Someone who gets tattoos, piercings, and Mohawks.
I’m the one that has to live with my choices. I might as well enjoy them while I can. As far as I know, we don’t get another chance at this. Like I told the piercers, my body is not a temple; so fuck it we ball.
That’s the energy I want to continue 2024 with: unabashedly being myself. Even if I need to be reminded. Even if it’s painful. And it can be painful–to shed your preconceived notions, to make changes, to GROW.
But it’s painful in a good way. Like a wound that’s healing. An open flesh wound surrounded by a hollow, metal rod.
The Unplug Initiative 