Tolerance and Acceptance: My Christmas Miracle

In keeping with the positive tone I'm setting for this new year (wonder how long it'll last), I should mention that there was a Christmas miracle of sorts for me this year.

Anyone who knows me (which is very likely none of you) knows that I love tattoos. I have six so far and I plan on many, many more. Addicted? Maybe. But each tattoo means something to me and I'm very proud of them. My mother? You can say that she's less than enthusiastic. This has always cut me deep, even if I understand why. But my tattoos are part of me. Hating them and expressing it is the same as telling me I'm too ugly or too short, or too anything (or not enough) for your liking. It's personal and it hurts - even more so because these tattoos are something I chose. The truth is that when I got my first tattoo, she cried and called me a branded cow.

Before everyone gets up in arms about it, you have to understand that her generation viewed it as something associated with the morally corrupt, the criminals and scum of the world. Honestly, they seem to have overlooked the sailor niche - which is bizarre for my family because they've been Navy for generations and generations. (But I digress.) Not only did her generation frown on it, her strict (and sometimes emotionally and physically abusive) family loathed anything out of the "norm." They were straight laced, Christian, military family with dark dynamics that we won't go into. So, needless to say, my mother learned a lot of things were "bad" that are now considered acceptable. Tattoos, for one.

Now, I'd been working on her for quite some time. I'd been saying that I want to get more tattoos, discussing which ones, talking about my old ones, and so on. Mostly trying to get her to expect more and not be so shocked, but also to try to get her more comfortable with the idea in general.

So here we are at the table at my in-laws', playing a game one of our friends got in the Christmas exchange game we do every year. It's warm and I tugged up my fleece leggings to cool off. And that's when she noticed the ghost tattoo on my leg that I've been hiding for six months (that my childhood friend drew custom for me out of the blue; so it's really special to me and an honor to have had him tattoo it on me). And she's predictably upset. She goes on, as usual, to say that I should stop getting tattoos. They're atrocious and in poor judgement. "And I don't really like any of them. Except that one." And she actually touches my forearm on the tattoo - something she's always avoided since I started getting them. Lo and behold, it's my very first tattoo - The Cruxshadows tri-fix.

"The symbol for our band is a cross (a tri-bar Eastern Orthodox cross, to be precise) with a field of light on one side and a field of dark on the other. What is important here is the idea of exclusion - or outsiders - because when all is flooded with light, the cross will still render a shadow; a place the light can't reach." - Rogue, lead singer of The Cruxshadows

This gives me hope. Not just for my mum to like and accept my tattoos. It makes me hope that people who have learned to hate something (or some people) their whole life can learn to change and accept it if they're exposed to it enough and are taught more about it. It makes me hope that knowledge can chase away fear and hate, and exposure can lead to acceptance. If my mum can learn to love tattoos, which she cried about and hated and verbally denounced every chance she had, then maybe people who spew hate and prejudice can learn to overcome it. Maybe, just maybe, they can learn to see people as people - no matter if they have different social status, skin color, or ways of expressing themselves. No matter if they come from far away, or love someone that was once thought unacceptable.

That would really be a miracle.

Hello, 2018: It's All About Perspective

Backstory time!
Since around May 2017, I've been in gradually worsening pain from my wisdom teeth. I only have two, both on top. But let me tell you.. they've been raising hell. The one on the left hasn't really been a problem. It hasn't broken through the gum (it seems to have stopped moving) and the tooth is coming in straight. The one on the right, however? It broke through the gum and came in at an angle. And one day when I was sick, I had a lozenge in my mouth for my sore throat. I fell because I was dizzy and fainted a little, biting down on the lozenge when I hit the ground. It cracked my wisdom tooth which has since impacted on the molar next to it.

For those of you who may not know, this is bad news.

When a wisdom tooth impacts, you want to get that sucker out as soon as possible. Where it pushes on your molar is where it creates a host of problems, including pain and possible infection from trapped bacteria and debris. Brushing has little to no effect, and flossing only goes so far; it can't go into the gum or very far under the tooth - if you can get it between them at all.

Since I've gone seven months without it getting pulled out (due to a research trip to the Virgin Islands and busy surgeon offices), it's been gradually worsening - to the point that the root and/or nerve is exposed and little bits of the tooth break off now and then. I floss and brush after every meal and any time the tooth starts to ache. It triggers my already chronic migraines (which makes me sensitive to temperature around me, light, and loud sounds), makes the entire right side of my skull ache, has given me a near constant fever (between 100.4F and 101.5F), and makes me feel like I have the world's worst earache (because they share a nerve cluster). Why do I tell you all this...?

Perspective.
You see, I'm a firm believer in the essentiality of suffering. It's part of the human condition. Without bad, there's no good. Without sorrow, there's no joy. By the same token: without pain, there's no relief. I learned from this pain. I will never take being pain free for granted again. I know what it's like to have to shut myself away in a silent, dark room while I want to be out doing things just because I'm in constant agony. I know what it's like to have to wear sunglasses indoors like an asshole just because the lights make my migraine worse and nauseate me. I know what it's like to need to wear earplugs or noise canceling headphones, but can't because anything touching my right ear causes pain and makes me wish I was dead. I know what it's like to starve because food/food temperature is too much to handle and nothing is helping. I know what it's like to overdose on both acetaminophen and ibuprofen. It's not fun.

But in comparison, just existing without pain is glorious. It gives me a brighter outlook and fills me with gratitude. Food tastes just a little better, friends are a little more welcome, and my attitude is a little brighter. And, guys? It's so hard to be depressed when you're feeling so good, so relieved, and so grateful.

In three days' time, my wisdom teeth will finally be gone. All in all, that's a pretty fantastic way to start the New Year, and I will carry this perspective and gratitude through the year. I'll remember the long months where crying was a norm and everything was hell, and I'll smile because I won't have to endure that again. I will be able to sleep through the night, rest my head on my hand, eat cold and hot foods, smile and laugh without cringing... And I hope that attitude will inspire a positive change in me this year, one that will help stave off my depression, return my patience and compassion, help me keep focus, and be just a little bit more human. I just have to remember to look back at where I've been and be thankful that it's behind me.

Because when it comes down to it, it's all about perspective.