This wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment choice. For nearly a year, I’d been contemplating this decision since my 40th birthday. It was part of a personal bucket list—things I had delayed due to concerns about how others might perceive me. Who was I to think I could write a book? Do “good girls” really get tattoos? Yet as I crossed into my 40s, the negative voices in my head began to quiet.
“Is this a midlife crisis?” a friend asked, half-joking, half-concerned, when I shared my tattoo plans. At first, I bristled at the question. But what truly defines a midlife crisis? Is it when you realize you’ve spent years adhering to a set of unspoken guidelines for success, only to watch your plans fall apart? Is it about prioritizing everyone else’s needs for so long that you forget your own? Or is it reminiscing about lost loves and closed doors, wondering if new opportunities will ever arise? Perhaps.
I took my time deciding on the tattoo design, even creating a secret Pinterest board filled with inspiration. Still, I hesitated as my 40th year slipped by, page by page. As summer approached, it became clear: it was now or never. I found a tattoo artist online whose work resonated with me and quickly scheduled a consultation.
Walking into the tattoo shop, dressed in yoga pants and clutching a Starbucks cup, I felt like an outsider. The heavily inked and pierced staff noticed me immediately. It was like a scene from a comedy—one of those moments where you think, “One of these things is not like the other.” But when Tara, the artist I’d chosen, greeted me, I felt an instant sense of comfort. She was friendly and listened attentively to my ideas. Before I could second-guess myself, I put down a deposit, secured an appointment for a month later, and walked away feeling empowered.
As the date approached, my confidence wavered. For someone who keeps her emotions close, getting a tattoo felt audacious. Would my family disapprove? How would my friends react? Would a tattoo reveal something about me that I wasn’t ready to share? But then I realized, so what?
The most important lesson I’ve learned in my 40 years is this: No one is focusing on me as much as I think they are. There’s no secret society critiquing my flaws; everyone is too busy worrying about their own lives. If someone finds me lacking, no amount of effort on my part will change their opinion.
That’s how I found myself face down on a gray vinyl table, taking deep breaths as Tara worked. “Is it worse than childbirth?” asked another client. “Well,” I replied, “it won’t take as long.”
As I considered her question, I realized my perspective had been skewed. A tattoo is indeed permanent, but my skin already bears its share of scars: stretch marks from pregnancy, a smooth patch from a childhood skateboard accident, and a triangle scar on my hand from a kitchen mishap. And those are just the visible marks. A tattoo, at least, is a scar I’ve chosen.
Tara shared a heartwarming story about her oldest client—a 76-year-old grandmother who got her first tattoo of an owl on a stack of pancakes, surprising her family at a reunion. I found inspiration in that. If she could do it, so could I.
I hadn’t mentioned my plans to my mother, unsure of her reaction. I often remind my 11-year-old daughter, Lucy, to think carefully about her choices, advice she quickly echoed back to me with a hint of judgment when I revealed my tattoo idea. My 8-year-old son, Max, was more laid-back, saying, “Fine, but it’s going to hurt.”
Days before my appointment, I tried once more to convince Lucy. She pondered for a moment and said, “Mama, you know you’ll get old and wrinkly, and then your tattoo will look bad.” I weighed her words—sure, I might regret this choice someday, but I already carried plenty of regrets. I can’t rewrite the past, but I can reduce the pile labeled “things left undone.”
So, I told her this: If my biggest regret when I pass is a tattoo, then I will have lived a good life.
If you’re interested in more about personal choices and journeys, check out this insightful post on home insemination. For those looking to enhance their fertility, this resource is a great place to start. And for further information on fertility, I recommend visiting the CDC’s infertility page.
Summary
In my 40s, I decided to get a tattoo as part of a bucket list I had been forming for years. After much contemplation and planning, I finally took the plunge, realizing that the hardest lesson I learned was that most people are focused on their own lives, not mine. I embraced the idea of a tattoo as a personal choice rather than a societal judgment. In the end, I found empowerment in the decision, ready to accept whatever comes next.