The decision was made. I had thought about it, picked a design that was meaningful to me. Then I waited. Waited to be sure. Waited for an artist reference. Waited for my friend to return. And when it happened, it happened fast. He asked “today?” and I said “okay.”

But why? My kids said, “the concepts of you and a tattoo don’t exist together in my reality.” My husband is not a fan of the art. I have friends with tattoos but probably more who don’t, and I’ve never exactly been a trendsetter (or follower).

The seed was planted several years ago, when a friend got a small, meaningful tattoo to celebrate her victory over some health and personal challenges. I was impressed and moved by her statement-making, perhaps more so because she seemed an unlikely person to sport a tattoo.

I reflected on my last 10 years -- my 50’s -- and the challenges I had faced: chronic pain, losing my job, empty nest, reinvention. I had rediscovered purpose, glowed proudly as my children grew into successful adulthood, reconciled the reality of my pain. It seemed worthy of personal recognition, but I pushed the idea of a tattoo to the back of mind.

A conversation about families getting matching tattoos brought the idea to the surface, not that I had any notion of this venture being a family affair. Shortly thereafter, I came across a design – a clean, simple dandelion – that I loved. It reminded me of the field of flowers in The Little Prince (my all-time favorite book). The dandelion symbolizes strength and hope, which resonated with me. And then I realized the symbol my hospice group uses is a dandelion. It felt like the universe speaking to me: this dandelion design was meant for me, to be a daily reminder of my own strength and the power of hope. I wanted to do it.

I told my friend and wise counsel Amy, who loved the idea and the design. She got an artist recommendation from a trusted friend, and the wheels were set in motion. I checked the artist’s website before reaching out, but once I did... well, he asked “today?” and I said “okay.” A text to Amy confirmed she could go and hold my hand. She offered to drive and picked me up saying, “I’m so stoked. Are you?”

The experience: so much fun. Where to begin? The shop was clean and bright, not at all the stereotype of dark, smoke-filled tattoo parlors. Dane was welcoming, kind, and gentle. His fellow artists were friendly. I got to watch him sketch the design on his tablet and make a transfer image to apply to my inner wrist. I was nervous about pain, and Dane talked me through every step. And surprise – the inking process was far less painful than I had imagined, no worse than acupuncture. Throughout the 45-minute appointment, Dane, Amy, and I laughed and joked about my cool quotient. (Dane credited me with “gangsta.”) Amy took pictures. I was on a natural high.

The reaction: From Rebecca, “It’s pretty. Are you having an existential crisis?” A Facebook post brought a ton of affirmation, surprise from my brothers, and a favorite comment of “seriously badass.” (And 2 friends surprised me when they expressed their desire to get the badass label; I’ll introduce you to Dane when you’re ready.)

So about that time I got a tattoo: As my fellow chronic pain warriors will understand, it’s a private F*** U to the pain. More important, my delicate dandelion tattoo makes me happy every time I see it. I feel strong, brave, and self-empowered.