Tattoos Your Mother Doesn’t Want You to Have

Image credit: Ashling Larkin

“If you get another tattoo I don’t think I can forgive you.”

You never told me that my body was my own, yet you told me that women died getting the vote. Can I not express myself in such a way, of my own survival? Of my own suffering and self-hate? My first tattoo wrote my soul on my sleeve, my only wrist then forever stained in a foreign language you almost didn’t notice. I wonder how long I could have hidden it.

You told me not to get another, that they don’t look good, that women shouldn’t have tattoos (but I can still wear ‘boys’ clothing at school?). That it lasts forever! Yet I went into the tattoo parlour with the full knowledge that it would last my whole life, and after the scratching stopped I couldn’t stop looking at it. This precious wonderful thing I could call my own. Based on a Greek story I loved, what could stop me from doing what I wanted?

My second tattoo was only in relation to my love for a TV show everyone disliked, but I had never connected with something so fiercely in my life. I had the courage to go against your wishes, to re-claim my body, and get another tattoo. On my left bicep now flies three birds (badly drawn, annoyingly) next to Courage as if I was showing you that I could do what I wanted. I told you on the phone, and you passed it to dad, who sounded the way he always does – like he only wants the best for the both of us. You didn’t bring it up after that.

My third and fourth came straight after I realised I had a problem. After realising that a pair of scissors wouldn’t stop the pain, I needed something to show me that maybe the voices in my head weren’t loud enough to affect me. ‘I refuse to sink’ complete with anchor surrounded by flowers (obviously) now sits on my ribcage, and for 3 years now I have been unable to wear certain clothes around you, just in case you catch a peek. My brother, dad and my friends now all know. The last person to tell is you. Maybe later.

My fifth tattoo which I haven’t had the courage (ironically) to get, will be another way to convince myself that I am stronger than the voices in my head (I should really know that by now). I tried to tell you last year, but this time I could hear the laughter in your voice. You should know by now that you can’t control me, or my body. I won’t lose weight because you want me to. I’ll get my nose pierced if I want to. I’ll get another tattoo if I want to.

You first told me that women getting control of the vote should be something I am thankful for every day. I am, but I’m also thankful for those in the 100 years after who told me I could put flowers in my hair, or burn my bra, or buy a vibrator, or even fall in love with women instead of men, because they accepted me for who I am. Maybe one day you can thank them for that.

After living in a small town, seemingly in the middle of nowhere, Vivian moved up to Newcastle Upon Tyne, a city alive with art, music, beautiful buildings and fabulous people. Viv lived here over 3 years. She has two degrees in English, and a slight obsession with a certain Mexican beer laced with tequila. Viv enjoys long walks along the beach, and dogs with soft ears.

Ashling is a Scotland-based comic artist, illustrator & animator. She graduated in 2016 from DJCAD with a 2:1 Bdes(Hons) in animation and has since been doing freelance work at the Dundee Comics Creative Space at Inkpot studio, while also working on her current ongoing project, a fantasy-adventure webcomic called “The Enchanted Book”.