Mrs_America

A friend once said to me, "Tattoos are like scars. They are a physical reminder of what you've gone through. Removing a tattoo is trying to deny what's made you who you are, and it's stupid." Scars, tattoos, and the mark of our lives printed on our skins. How can we be ashamed of our bodies when they are what we have made them? They are the books of our lives, our past written on our skin.

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My husband has a few scars, and I think they are all sexy as hell, especially the one from the surgery to reconstruct shattered bone. When I see it, and the knobbly joint, it reminds me of how he earned it, how well he bore up during the healing, and how brave he is for getting back in the saddle when it was healed. I wouldn't have! He also has two tattoos, one on each shoulder. He showed them to me the night we met (and I will never forget the sight of the shirt coming off to reveal a big hairy chest and these heavy, muscly arms flexing! Phroawr!). He explained what they meant and I started falling in love with him that very night. I loved his honesty and how comfortable he was in his own imperfect skin.

I have a tattoo, and I will have two when I find an artist good enough to entrust with the design. I chose a Dream catcher for my first. I am American, I will always be American, and when I have lived in the UK longer than America and I have British kids and grand-kids, I will still be American. I am also a Native American, registered with an honest-to-god tribe. I have a tribal name; I speak a little Algonquian. I am a direct descendant of Pocahontas (no joke, it's true). And from birth until the age of 10 I suffered from terrible night terrors, and sleepwalking. I remember the hallucinations that seemed to chase me into consciousness. They still terrify me. All that only stopped when I was 10 and two things happened: I chose to be baptized, and my father bought me a Dream catcher woven by a Native American craftswoman (her name was Three Feathers). So on my 26th birthday, I thought it was a good idea to leave the mark of my identity on my body. It's small, only about the size of a 50p. There are three feathers hanging from the edge, in honor of the woman who calmed my dreams. And I chose to place it on my ankle, on that little soft bit between the ankle bone and the heel. Native Americans believe that women have a connection to the earth, for our fruitfulness. This is why, while men do the Eagle Dance and seem to take off from the ground, women do not: we do the Shuffle Dance and maintain our connection, as mothers, to the Great Mother. Now every time my foot strikes the earth, I am reminded of my roots, my connections to my ancestors. I will never be ashamed of my tattoo.

Now, scars are something I am giving serious thought to. My spine shows no sign of improvement, and it will be surgery in the end. A scar, a permanent scar, several inches long, right in the small of my back up my spine. The Tramp Stamp area, the bit that everyone will see when my jeans fall down and shirt rides up, as they inevitably do. I have never thought scars, on girls, were cool. Maybe someone like Angelina Jolie, somebody tough yet undeniably feminine and sexy, could rock a scar. I'm just going to look damaged...

But I'm trying to focus on the other bit- I have lived through this pain, I have suffered through the injury, and when people ask me about it, I can say that my scar is from when I was housebound for 6 months with terrible pain, and had to find a way to keep sane and cheerful with nothing more than my wits (and google). I am not happy about this time in my life, I am not pleased to be hurting and I don't want a scar- but I am proud with how well I've coped, and I'll be glad when it's over. I will prefer the scar to the injury, so bring it on.

Also, potentially, I could tell strangers that it's from a shark attack when I was surfing off the coast of Hawaii... This would be a lie, but a pretty good one.

And then, there's the saggy skin. I HATE it. Most women have some, most women hate it. It seems you get it after childbirth, and I know for a fact you get it after losing weight (having been a fatty for years and years). My bad bit is my tummy (upper arms and thighs are endurable, bum is decently perky). It looks so disgusting, hanging there limp and floppy like a wind sock on a still day. EW. Also, I grew boobs when I was 10, and I hate that they are now hanging much lower than my flatter chested compatriots. I want a tummy tuck. I want a boob lift. Also maybe a reduction.

But the thing is, I earned those sags. I was an emotional eater because that was how I coped with abuse. I am a recovered bulimic. And I have sweated and slaved to peel away layer after layer of fat. It was HARD WORK. Aqua aerobics and swimming and Zumba and Body Combat and hours on the cross trainer and a brief love affair with the rowing machine- all of that was not easy: I literally worked my ass off (from a size 18 to a 14, thanks, and I'm not done til it's a 12). So yes, I wish my skin had more elasticity, I wish I could make it shape up into a smooth line, but the fact of the matter is, better saggy than over-inflated. I have earned these sags.

I am not a supermodel. I am short. The tallest woman of my family is a towering five foot nothing- but I am five foot three, so I am tall. My hips are broad; I am hoping I will easily bear children. I am very chesty, and they sag a bit, but my breasts have seduced some men in their time. My thighs are solid and round because they are strong; like a Welsh pony I could walk all day and then walk into the night. My hands are small and my fingers are stubby, my nails are kept blunt and short; they are "peasants' hands" (I have actually been told this by a 'friend'). With them, I can embroider, I can sew, I can play flute and guitar, I can draw and I can untangle knots. I can write calligraphy and chop wood and make good pastry, I am learning to knit. I couldn't be a nail varnish model but I can give one hell of a pedicure.

Do I "Love my body"? Maybe in the way old people who have been married for 50 years love each other- in that they are quite fed up and bored and want something new and different and exciting!

I am not in love with my body. I have too many flaws to be ecstatic about how I look naked in the mirror. But I am Proud of my body. I've done alright. And all the imperfections add up to a life I'm not ashamed of.

Have a look at your body. I bet it tells a good story.