Womanhood and Wildflowers
I have made a lot of decisions in my life, some good, some bad, somewithout consequence and some life changing. Today I made another, of an unusual type of permanence: I got a tattoo.
To share something personal, I have recently been through the invasive and tense process of being diagnosed with polycystic ovary syndrome. After a month of being tested with the possibility of cancer, to hear this was initially some sort of relief. However, I have large cysts on the follicles of my ovaries that are linked to excess male hormones and insulin levels. It causes, and is heavily linked to, weight gain, diabetes, infertility and some cancers. As my case is severe, and coupled with other conditions, it has great influence on my ability to conceive children. I may have to have operations, hormone therapies or even IVF, simply to conceive and my risk of miscarriage is 3 times more likely if I do. As a 20 year old, I have really never given much serious thought to being a mum; something which has now slipped a little from my grasp. This leads me to my tattoo.
The etymology of "tattoo" is long and symbolic, but the Samoan tradition links heavily today's painfully permanent art. The female tattoo is called a malu and generally held as a prideful hallmark of womanhood; the very thing I have been struggling with of late. I understand why, though, to varying degrees, PCOS is common (Up to a third of women have polycystic ovaries to at least a very mild degree), no one really talks about it and why I have been reluctant to share anything about it. I have a lot of male friends and am used to being one of the boys. But now one of the only things that biologically distinguished me is diminished. Even though the line between man and woman blurs more and more everyday, I feel myself losing sight of my place on that spectrum; being unable to properly fulfil the purpose I am evolutionarily and societally conditioned to do. As much as I tried to dispel these thoughts, such a disorder makes you question the value of your feminity. We are raised and conditioned to be baby makers, so where do we run when the equipment starts to fail us?
I've played with the idea of a tattoo for over a year and my recent circumstances have only encouraged my decision. I always wanted to get something inspired by Nan, who holds a special place in my heart, looking to the flowers on her distinctive stationery. With so much material on pages and online, with floral tattoos becoming fashionable, I decided on a few stems of wildflowers on my rib cage. (Out of sight, not out of shame, but simply because that's where I want them. They're for me, not for anyone else anyway.)
The idea of the wildflowers, symbols of growth, life and beauty; flowers that grow where no one thinks they can, in the cracks of pavements and wastelands, has only gained more poignance within the metaphor of my possible infertility and, in a larger sense, myself as I continue to be alive, survive and thrive under less than perfect circumstances. My flowers today will remind me of my Nan, one of the most important women to me despite her absence, serve as a reminder of my resilience and act as a defiant strike against the mental and physical affects of my syndrome.
So Today I get a tattoo and write my own kind of poetic message, as an ode to
my womanhood and to my spirit.
M xxx
The rain to the wind said,
You push and I'll pelt.'
They so smote the garden bed
That the flowers actually knelt,
And lay lodged--though not dead.
I know how the flowers felt.
-Robert Frost
To share something personal, I have recently been through the invasive and tense process of being diagnosed with polycystic ovary syndrome. After a month of being tested with the possibility of cancer, to hear this was initially some sort of relief. However, I have large cysts on the follicles of my ovaries that are linked to excess male hormones and insulin levels. It causes, and is heavily linked to, weight gain, diabetes, infertility and some cancers. As my case is severe, and coupled with other conditions, it has great influence on my ability to conceive children. I may have to have operations, hormone therapies or even IVF, simply to conceive and my risk of miscarriage is 3 times more likely if I do. As a 20 year old, I have really never given much serious thought to being a mum; something which has now slipped a little from my grasp. This leads me to my tattoo.
The etymology of "tattoo" is long and symbolic, but the Samoan tradition links heavily today's painfully permanent art. The female tattoo is called a malu and generally held as a prideful hallmark of womanhood; the very thing I have been struggling with of late. I understand why, though, to varying degrees, PCOS is common (Up to a third of women have polycystic ovaries to at least a very mild degree), no one really talks about it and why I have been reluctant to share anything about it. I have a lot of male friends and am used to being one of the boys. But now one of the only things that biologically distinguished me is diminished. Even though the line between man and woman blurs more and more everyday, I feel myself losing sight of my place on that spectrum; being unable to properly fulfil the purpose I am evolutionarily and societally conditioned to do. As much as I tried to dispel these thoughts, such a disorder makes you question the value of your feminity. We are raised and conditioned to be baby makers, so where do we run when the equipment starts to fail us?
I've played with the idea of a tattoo for over a year and my recent circumstances have only encouraged my decision. I always wanted to get something inspired by Nan, who holds a special place in my heart, looking to the flowers on her distinctive stationery. With so much material on pages and online, with floral tattoos becoming fashionable, I decided on a few stems of wildflowers on my rib cage. (Out of sight, not out of shame, but simply because that's where I want them. They're for me, not for anyone else anyway.)
The idea of the wildflowers, symbols of growth, life and beauty; flowers that grow where no one thinks they can, in the cracks of pavements and wastelands, has only gained more poignance within the metaphor of my possible infertility and, in a larger sense, myself as I continue to be alive, survive and thrive under less than perfect circumstances. My flowers today will remind me of my Nan, one of the most important women to me despite her absence, serve as a reminder of my resilience and act as a defiant strike against the mental and physical affects of my syndrome.
So Today I get a tattoo and write my own kind of poetic message, as an ode to
my womanhood and to my spirit.
M xxx
The rain to the wind said,
You push and I'll pelt.'
They so smote the garden bed
That the flowers actually knelt,
And lay lodged--though not dead.
I know how the flowers felt.
-Robert Frost
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