You Know That's Permanent?

What to get?
Where to get it?
When to get it?
Why did I get it?
Those tend to be the four tattoo questions.  The first three you ask yourself, and the fourth is asked of you.  Or in this case, of me!
What to get, what to get, what to get?  That was the hardest question.  I wanted something that was symbolic of me.  That still left things wide open, did I want a symbol of wife, mother, sister, daughter?  No, not yet.  Not my first one.  I wanted it to be of me.  But what was me?  That required some searching of my soul.  It also required that I take a look at what I had done to myself and what that had done to others.  That sounds awfully cryptic and I will explain more in a moment. 
But the what to get became clear to me as I saw a Catholic jewelry maker's work.  She had created a snowflake pendant and it was called "washed" .  When I think of the term washed in a Catholic setting, I immediately think of confession and being washed of sin.  So a snowflake became the what.
I chose my right ankle.  It was a place on my body that I could easily see.  I could conceal it when I needed to, and it was a part of the body that doesn't tend to get fat!
I got it after I lost some weight both physically and emotionally.
But why in the world would I permanently mark my body?  Because I already had in a much less beautiful way.  Between the ages of 13 and 36, I routinely cut myself.   I don't know why I started.  But I knew that it was an easy way for me to feel better.  A little blood letting was much simpler than dealing with the issue.  And for most of these scars, I couldn't tell you what the issue was.  I truly gave no thought to how it would hurt someone that loved me until I realized that it did hurt someone that loved me.  And then I used it as a weapon.  Hurting myself was the best way I could hurt others.  It was no longer self mutilation, but an act that I cannot find words for.  And for as ugly as my scars were, I had become so much uglier. 
So I stopped cutting, but the threat always hung in the air during disagreements, during frustrating times, honestly, during every day.  I would catch people looking at my arm and I am sure they were trying to decide if I had a serious problem, or just horrible cats. 
This tattoo became my promise that I would never cut again.  And I finally came to the place in my heart where I could make that promise. 
I went to the two people that love me most in the world, Danny and God.  I knew that Danny had forgiven me, we had already had the conversation.  But I wasn't so sure about God.  I had never told Him what I had done though He could obviously see it, feel it.  And I know that God forgives all sins for which we are truly sorry, but I needed to hear it.  One of my favorite things about being Catholic is the Sacrament of Reconciliation.  I was terrified to admit to God that I had treated His creation with such hate.  But that moment was such a gift for me. Turns out that God loves me.  In spite of my scars and because of them.  
So when you look at my ankle, you see a snowflake.  It is shades of blue and is reminiscent of a stained glass window.  That was a nice added bonus since I have a great fondness for churches, especially old ones filled with fancy windows.  It was also nice that the symbol I chose was also representative of my maiden name.  But what is really on my ankle is this promise to myself, my Lord and the people that I love that I will never hurt like that again.