I do not have a tattoo. You might think that this is because I’m Jewish and that Jews with tattoos can’t be buried in Jewish cemeteries. Turns out, that’s actually Jewish urban legend . Still, the Torah technically forbids that Jews get tattoos .
But that doesn’t mean I don’t want one.
When I was in high school, I wanted some cliched drama mask and treble clef combo. As my Glee-like levels of drama nerd-dom have waned, however, I feel more drawn to ancient symbols that are reflections of my shared Japanese and Irish heritage, such as triskeles and mitsudomoe . And, as sacrilegious as it sounds, I like the idea of getting a hamsa tattooed somewhere on me as well.
I’m not sure why I’m so drawn to getting a tattoo, other than I’ve always wanted one. Nothing big or ostentatious: just something small and personal, rife with intimate meaning, somewhere discreet but where I can see it when I want to, such as the inside of the wrist, the inside of the ankle or the top of the foot. (I know – I’m picking some of the most painful areas to boot.)
I told Larry that once we are finally over our infertility battle, that is, once we’ve got our son home and in our arms – I’m getting a tattoo. I feel like I need to honor this journey with an indelible mark on my body – a visible scar to match the invisible ones on my heart.
Turns out, I’m not the only person who’s had this idea.
I had first read about getting a tattoo to honor an infertility journey sometime in the last two years. For the life of me, I cannot remember the blogger, but I do remember her tattoo: a black hibiscus. And I seem to remember she got the same tattoo along with two other fellow bloggers or peer support group members, each of them honoring their own infertility paths. (If that’s you, let me know – I’d love to link to your post showing off your spiffy tattoo 
)
So recently, I put the call out there on Facebook and Twitter to see who else had gotten tattoos to mark their infertility journeys.
Here’s what some folks on Twitter sent my way:
@ keikozoll I do. Two footprints of our 27-weeker preemies embraced in a blue rose of the triplet we lost.
— Tricia (@TCStream) February 21, 2013
@ keikozoll Yes. Small butterfly next to my hysterectomy scar. It represents a new beginning. Endo never allowed me to have children.
— Catherine Lambert (@Liasomothers) February 21, 2013
Heather emailed me her infertility tattoo story:
“Just over a year ago I overcame my 5 year struggle with infertility… by accepting it. It consumed me for 5 years and became who I was instead of a part of me. I now live my life childfree and LOVE my life again. Infertility stole my identity for 5 years… and like most women struggling with infertility, I almost took my own life. My tattoo is a symbol of who I am now: “Stronger.” The saying in life is that whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. I have it on my foot symbolizing that infertility walks with me through this life; healed, but never forgotten.“
Kimberly sent me a link to her blog post talking about her infertility tattoo :
“Now every time things get difficult, you can look at your wrist and it will help you find the strength you need to get through it.”
) and also because I didn’t want it in some horrid place that will look awful when I am 70! It all came together in some great way, so I am glad to have it and use it as a reminder when I need it.”
I do not have a tattoo. You might think that this is because I’m Jewish and that Jews with tattoos can’t be buried in Jewish cemeteries. Turns out, that’s actually Jewish urban legend . Still, the Torah technically forbids that Jews get tattoos .
But that doesn’t mean I don’t want one.
When I was in high school, I wanted some cliched drama mask and treble clef combo. As my Glee-like levels of drama nerd-dom have waned, however, I feel more drawn to ancient symbols that are reflections of my shared Japanese and Irish heritage, such as triskeles and mitsudomoe . And, as sacrilegious as it sounds, I like the idea of getting a hamsa tattooed somewhere on me as well.
I’m not sure why I’m so drawn to getting a tattoo, other than I’ve always wanted one. Nothing big or ostentatious: just something small and personal, rife with intimate meaning, somewhere discreet but where I can see it when I want to, such as the inside of the wrist, the inside of the ankle or the top of the foot. (I know – I’m picking some of the most painful areas to boot.)
I told Larry that once we are finally over our infertility battle, that is, once we’ve got our son home and in our arms – I’m getting a tattoo. I feel like I need to honor this journey with an indelible mark on my body – a visible scar to match the invisible ones on my heart.
Turns out, I’m not the only person who’s had this idea.
I had first read about getting a tattoo to honor an infertility journey sometime in the last two years. For the life of me, I cannot remember the blogger, but I do remember her tattoo: a black hibiscus. And I seem to remember she got the same tattoo along with two other fellow bloggers or peer support group members, each of them honoring their own infertility paths. (If that’s you, let me know – I’d love to link to your post showing off your spiffy tattoo
)
So recently, I put the call out there on Facebook and Twitter to see who else had gotten tattoos to mark their infertility journeys.
Here’s what some folks on Twitter sent my way:
Heather emailed me her infertility tattoo story:
Kimberly sent me a link to her blog post talking about her infertility tattoo :
“Now every time things get difficult, you can look at your wrist and it will help you find the strength you need to get through it.”
Natasha N. sent me this lovely pic of a sea turtle to honor their path:
A symbol of longevity and fertility