My tattoo is a phoenix bursting out of an Edison lightbulb on my right thigh. I got it in June 2022.
The Tattoo I Had to Grow Into
When I was in my early 30s, I started questioning the rules I had lived by most of my life. I had been deeply involved in the Christian faith for years. I like rules and well-laid plans. They bring me security. But over time, the rules started to feel untrue. I was waking up and thinking about who I wanted to be outside of what the church told me I should be. I started asking myself, “How long will I live my life to support my husband’s dreams or the Christian faith’s image?”
As I deconstructed those beliefs, I found warmth and healing in the mystical, spiritual beliefs I had abandoned to “follow Jesus.” As a kid, I had loved ghost stories, talking to angels, chanting little rhymes, and carrying around lucky rocks. I felt connected to something unseen; back then, it felt protective and safe. When I started deconstructing my adult faith, those things were still there, welcoming me back with long, warm hugs. The kind where neither hugger wants to let go and you sway back and forth, gently coregulating until peace is found in the moment.
I felt zero obligation to convince anyone else of my truth. I didn’t feel the need to argue or convert. It didn’t need a church building or a perfectly worded prayer. One of my favorite places to practice now is at my ancestors’ gravesites, and my communication with spirit is often, “Hello? What do I do now?”
This deconstruction and rising is where the idea for my tattoo came from.
A phoenix rising from a broken Edison bulb—a creature reborn from flame, breaking out of a shattered symbol of old ideas—was the clearest image I could think of to capture what I was experiencing: the destruction of belief systems and the rising of something that feels strong, powerful, and dynamic.
When I was 37, my then-husband Craig gave me a Christmas card. Inside was a note promising to cover the cost of the tattoo session with my sister Heather, a professional tattoo artist. It felt like everything was lining up. The appointment was set for March 14, 2020.
And then the world closed.
What was supposed to be a weekend away with my sister became a weekend of isolation, anxiety, and scrambling for toilet paper. The session was cancelled.
A few months later, in July 2020, Craig and I separated.
That year became a turning point. I let go of the version of myself that kept saying “I’m fine” while carrying way too much. I started choosing myself not once, but over and over again.
I left a marriage that no longer supported the life I was trying to create. I started a business, bought a home, and began surrounding myself with people who knew how to show up for themselves and each other. I leaned into hard conversations, therapy, new beliefs, and deeper healing.
Back then, I was a young mom of three, trying so hard to be seen and heard that I often ended up in stress and survival mode. I didn’t know how to ask for what I needed or stop people-pleasing long enough to listen to my own voice. I operated from fear most of the time. Fear of being too much, not enough, or altogether invisible.
I worked really hard to be healthier and gather tools to create relationships in my life where I was seen and nourished and could give back to those relationships in a regulated, reciprocal way.
Then came my 40th birthday.
My friend Vignesh, a spiritual sounding board and always a good friend, reached out with a surprise. He had been talking to Heather. He remembered the tattoo I never got, and he and two other friends wanted to give it to me as a birthday gift.
I was stunned. They had seen me, not just in the fun, light moments but also in the grief, the rebuilding, and the resilience it took to come back to myself. They had witnessed my rising, and they wanted to help mark it.
Heather and I have always had a strong connection. We’ve lived through a lot together, including the death of our sister Julie. She’s someone who knows pieces of me others wouldn’t understand.. She was the person who could bring this piece to life.
She showed me the updated design. I appreciated that she had made it larger so it wouldn’t look awkward on my thigh. It was a practical choice but also symbolic. I didn’t want something small, but something that took up space.
There were moments where the pain came in waves, and I found myself waiting for those quick hits of dopamine that would settle me for a few minutes at a time. I asked for snacks and breaks as I needed them. And got through.
I spent 3 hours lying on my side so Heather could build this beautiful image on my right thigh.
It stretches upward, wings flared, with flames that curl out from the shattered bulb below. It’s all motion and momentum. The colors are rich and strong. It declares itself.
I used to need other people to tell me who I was. Now, I carry that identity with me in my work, in my choices, and on my skin. I’m still evolving, rising, but this tattoo is proof that I already have.
Being Resilient means being willing to examine the circumstances of life and figure out how to make something beautiful out of them. Feel the feelings, give thanks, ride the joy, and embrace the human experience.
Don’t think you’ve arrived or that you will find safety in playing small. You have one precious life, and you can take up space in the spotlight. Make main character choices for yourself! Be abundantly indulgent with yourself. This is how you fill your cup to pour into others.
Are you ready to share your story of RESILIENCE? You can do that HERE.