I got my fourth tattoo after leaving my ex of a ten year relationship. It originally had been his name. I suffered through domestic abuse at his hands and when I finally left I refused to ever go back. I tattooed over his name with roses and other flowers, open and in full bloom as a representation of myself and the rest of my life. I am now in full bloom and facing the light always.
Getting divorced but don't see a related tattoo in my future. I did get a tattoo after my daughter died. A riff on a quote from the book Paula by Isabel Allende. I know I'll get others, just have to settle on the ideas floating around my mind. I've done some digging on grief tattoos and have not found anything useful written. If you write again on tattoos, I'll be rooting for the grief angle. Weird, yes, but so is grief.
If you are up for it, I'd love it if you could share more about the tattoo that you got after your daughter died (I know about Tilly and although we don't know each other, I remember hearing this news and I think of your family often). Grief feels like a component of so many tattoos, that I'd like to incorporate this angle as well. If you don't have the newsletter email, just DM me your email on Insta and I'll send you mine. x
I was 32-ish. Just got divorced, went to the same tattoo artist as my ex had always gone to, and he had two sleeves and then some. I got a big ass tattoo that covered up a very small one I got when I was 18. I had the idea of what I wanted, then the artist drew the elements I asked for but drew them how HE wanted them. I didn’t love it, but I was young and hadn’t figured out how to get exactly what I wanted yet, but I knew wanted to get this tattoo and I liked the style of it so i went for it. For some really dumb reason I think I subconsciously wanted to hold onto something that would remind me of the crazy (but short) marriage we had, but I didn’t realize that until years later. I got the outline of the tattoo done, and my ex actually sat with me while I got it, then didn’t get the color filled in until nearly a year later, when I was in a new relationship with my now husband. The funniest part is that one of the elements in the tattoo was just something I liked at the time, but I had no particular attachment to it. And now coincidentally. my husband and I own a business that revolves around this one particular element. Life is sure weird! I now do love my tattoo. It’s a symbol of how you really just never know- a tattoo is permanent but it’s meaning may not be.
Yes, and as Ashely said I'm a little embarrassed but also very in love with my tattoo. I got my first one shortly before I turned 42, a year after my divorce. My ex-wife was very judgy about tattoos and yet I had always wanted one but could never decide on what. We had been together since college and a lot of her beliefs became mine so it felt like an expression of reclaiming something for myself and being decisive about who I am. It's two geese flying in opposite directions and while it was a flash from the artist, I see it as representing my two small kiddos and them being forever part of me. I didn't give birth to them so claiming space for myself as a mother / equal parent has been a long process and this is part of it.
I got a long-overdue divorce at 57, after 25 years of marriage. I had been intrigued by tattoos for a while but getting one myself wasn't something I felt compelled to do until after the divorce. A celebration. In the early days I used to joke that I was going to get a huge cobra and "still i rise, motherfucker". Fortunately I calmed down a bit. Just shy of my 61st birthday I got a small semi-colon (with a heart in place of the dot), as in "the story isn't over", to honor my daughter's struggle with depression. A little over a year later, on the same wrist, I got the word "forza", which means "strength" in Italian, in memory of my beloved grandmother. And at 64, I got a tattoo commemorating my dad (who passed the year before) on the other wrist.
I love my tattoos and derive great joy and strength from them. Although many of my contemporaries feared I'd lost my mind, my kids love them and my lover finds them dead sexy. What's not to like?
I’m equal parts embarrassed and proud to be such a cliche! I got my first tattoo about a year after my divorce. It’s on my left forearm, a bundle of two types of flowers associated with my birth month and my daughters birth month.
As I described to my therapist, the words slipped out that it was a representation of us planting new seeds and seeing something beautiful come out of it. I had never consciously thought of that sentence before that moment, but apparently that purpose was under the surface the whole time.
I got my first two, tiny tattoos at 18 and 22. Number three came shortly after my first divorce, at the age of 29; a commemoration of a long distance hike I did through Europe, which I had inked on my heel. At the age of 37 and remarried, I got a large Chinese dragon tattooed on my side after running my first marathon at The Great Wall. I didn't exactly ask "permission," as I'm a feminist and all, but I did make sure my new husband was okay with it first. "Okay" was a strong word for how he felt; the tattoo was big, though covered unless I was wearing a bikini. Five and six, both on the inside of my right elbow, commemorated completion of my first 100 mile running race (age 39) and 200 mile race (age 41). My husband was again "okay" with #5, a small triangle, and I neglected to tell him I was getting #6, a small Bigfoot. But what was done was done, and I ran 200 miles in the wilderness while he was out getting drunk, so what was he going to say? I was 43 the afternoon he called me when I was in the tattoo shop getting #7. He said, "Where are you?" and I said, "I'm getting tattoo. I forgot to tell you." [I didn't forget]. It's a tug-of-war rope that runs the length of my left forearm. By then I had read Hanif Abdurraqib's essay "Brief Notes on Staying" about 100 times: "[t]he way I think about grief is that it is a the great tug-of-war, and sometimes the flag is on the side you don't want it to be on ... even though I am sad, my hands are still on the rope. I am making my best work when my hands are on the rope, even if I'm not pulling back." It felt easier to get the tattoo than to keep torturing myself by reading that essay. I checked into a hotel the next day. My divorce has been final since April.
I haven’t done it yet - the tattoo - and officially missed the 20-year-mark (it was last August), but that’s only because I’m still thinking about what would be the most meaningful/symbolic to me. It will probably be between a literary quote or the constellation of the Phoenix. I was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis (MS) 20 years ago, when I was only 16. They apparently weren’t diagnosing “children” back then. So yeah, it has definitely put me on a life path I didn’t predict or plan, but as I’ve gotten older and realized it’s dumb to think you’ll have the future life your 16-year-old self thought you would have, I’m completely cool with who I’ve become (both the good and the bad).
I got my first at age 18 and back then no women I knew had tattoos. I had my tallest, largest girlfriend go with me to the sleazy guy in Boulder Colorado and only let him put a rose on my ankle. In 2021 I treated myself to another tattoo for my 65th birthday present to myself. It is on my left arm, visible most of the time in the clothes I wear here in Hawaiʻi, and symbolizes the connection to the previous 30 years and my growth over the 30 years ahead. I did get divorced twice in between the two...but no particular correlation!
Had one previous to divorce (and marriage for that matter). Got another during the divorce, but it was one I was considering getting for quite a while. It’s a lowercase é - the first letter of my daughter’s name and it’s on the inside of my wrist. I thought long and hard about the font (Ogg-which sounds like egg, which is where she came from) and if it should be upper or lowercase. It’s tiny. Like a piece of jewelry almost. And I got it around the time I stopped wearing my wedding ring. So perhaps some symbolism there - committing to my kid in the most permanent of ways while disbanding from my ex.
I already had tattoos before getting divorced, but the first one I got in the wake of it was pretty special, because it was during me and my new partner’s first solo trip together. We went to Milwaukee and visited a friend of ours (@gillysmash) who owns Shock Treatment Tattoo and spent hours pouring over books of flash. We were downing dollar cans of Hamm’s that he had loaded into the vending machine and taking breaks to smoke cigarettes. Finally I settled on a chubby girl riding a seahorse, CLASSIC Sailor Jerry. She was so fun and pink-cheeked and just floating. Looking back I don’t think I necessarily found any significance in it at the *time*, but I certainly do now. Since getting divorced I’ve found so much more joy in getting tattooed. It’s a ritualistic activity that, unlike my marriage, is truly “‘til death”.
I was 33, married (still am FWIW), and it is the yantra of the goddess Kali. I am a white Episcopalian lady but have always found Kali to be fascinating and alluring and at the time of the tattoo some very woo things lined up in my life right around the time I put a picture of her up in my office. I had her re-touched in 2017 and added her mantra in Sanskrit below it. She's on my left wrist and I adore her. For the most part the reaction was positive although my mother is still not a fan of ink. I'm a trial lawyer and at the time was in a conservative town so I needed to be able to cover up the tattoo for jury trials. Nowadays people seem to care a lot less. There will definitely be more ink in my future once the right one shows itself to me
I got my first tattoo in 2007 after my daughter passed from a brain tumour. I was married at the time.
The pain of the tattoo helped process my pain and it strongly represents her.
My second tattoo came after my separation, while I was trying to convince him to sign divorce papers; he was certain I was having a midlife crisis, and I would be back. It was a massive 13 hour Mandela on my back. No I don’t regret it. It represents my boundaries, the energy I put out into the world, and the energy that comes back to me. Again, the pain of the tattoo helped process the pain I was going through in life.
My third tattoo is less dramatic, I wanted something to represent my Canadian self, so I have a small Mandela Mapleleaf. I do believe that I’m done, however, I thought I was done after the first one.
I got my tattoo 30+ years ago (I'm at the other end of the story spectrum, I had just gotten married, or was about to get married? I can't remember) at a run down shop on the edge of the French Quarter. It is on my instep and is a design that a Tuareg artisan designed for me. (I was living in Niger at the time)
I got my fourth tattoo after leaving my ex of a ten year relationship. It originally had been his name. I suffered through domestic abuse at his hands and when I finally left I refused to ever go back. I tattooed over his name with roses and other flowers, open and in full bloom as a representation of myself and the rest of my life. I am now in full bloom and facing the light always.
Great photograph and article. Tattoos are photogenic, but skin is beautiful
Getting divorced but don't see a related tattoo in my future. I did get a tattoo after my daughter died. A riff on a quote from the book Paula by Isabel Allende. I know I'll get others, just have to settle on the ideas floating around my mind. I've done some digging on grief tattoos and have not found anything useful written. If you write again on tattoos, I'll be rooting for the grief angle. Weird, yes, but so is grief.
If you are up for it, I'd love it if you could share more about the tattoo that you got after your daughter died (I know about Tilly and although we don't know each other, I remember hearing this news and I think of your family often). Grief feels like a component of so many tattoos, that I'd like to incorporate this angle as well. If you don't have the newsletter email, just DM me your email on Insta and I'll send you mine. x
I was 32-ish. Just got divorced, went to the same tattoo artist as my ex had always gone to, and he had two sleeves and then some. I got a big ass tattoo that covered up a very small one I got when I was 18. I had the idea of what I wanted, then the artist drew the elements I asked for but drew them how HE wanted them. I didn’t love it, but I was young and hadn’t figured out how to get exactly what I wanted yet, but I knew wanted to get this tattoo and I liked the style of it so i went for it. For some really dumb reason I think I subconsciously wanted to hold onto something that would remind me of the crazy (but short) marriage we had, but I didn’t realize that until years later. I got the outline of the tattoo done, and my ex actually sat with me while I got it, then didn’t get the color filled in until nearly a year later, when I was in a new relationship with my now husband. The funniest part is that one of the elements in the tattoo was just something I liked at the time, but I had no particular attachment to it. And now coincidentally. my husband and I own a business that revolves around this one particular element. Life is sure weird! I now do love my tattoo. It’s a symbol of how you really just never know- a tattoo is permanent but it’s meaning may not be.
Leg sleeve 2 years after divorce. My ex wife (and her parents) would never have approved.
Yes, and as Ashely said I'm a little embarrassed but also very in love with my tattoo. I got my first one shortly before I turned 42, a year after my divorce. My ex-wife was very judgy about tattoos and yet I had always wanted one but could never decide on what. We had been together since college and a lot of her beliefs became mine so it felt like an expression of reclaiming something for myself and being decisive about who I am. It's two geese flying in opposite directions and while it was a flash from the artist, I see it as representing my two small kiddos and them being forever part of me. I didn't give birth to them so claiming space for myself as a mother / equal parent has been a long process and this is part of it.
I got a long-overdue divorce at 57, after 25 years of marriage. I had been intrigued by tattoos for a while but getting one myself wasn't something I felt compelled to do until after the divorce. A celebration. In the early days I used to joke that I was going to get a huge cobra and "still i rise, motherfucker". Fortunately I calmed down a bit. Just shy of my 61st birthday I got a small semi-colon (with a heart in place of the dot), as in "the story isn't over", to honor my daughter's struggle with depression. A little over a year later, on the same wrist, I got the word "forza", which means "strength" in Italian, in memory of my beloved grandmother. And at 64, I got a tattoo commemorating my dad (who passed the year before) on the other wrist.
I love my tattoos and derive great joy and strength from them. Although many of my contemporaries feared I'd lost my mind, my kids love them and my lover finds them dead sexy. What's not to like?
I’m equal parts embarrassed and proud to be such a cliche! I got my first tattoo about a year after my divorce. It’s on my left forearm, a bundle of two types of flowers associated with my birth month and my daughters birth month.
As I described to my therapist, the words slipped out that it was a representation of us planting new seeds and seeing something beautiful come out of it. I had never consciously thought of that sentence before that moment, but apparently that purpose was under the surface the whole time.
I got my first two, tiny tattoos at 18 and 22. Number three came shortly after my first divorce, at the age of 29; a commemoration of a long distance hike I did through Europe, which I had inked on my heel. At the age of 37 and remarried, I got a large Chinese dragon tattooed on my side after running my first marathon at The Great Wall. I didn't exactly ask "permission," as I'm a feminist and all, but I did make sure my new husband was okay with it first. "Okay" was a strong word for how he felt; the tattoo was big, though covered unless I was wearing a bikini. Five and six, both on the inside of my right elbow, commemorated completion of my first 100 mile running race (age 39) and 200 mile race (age 41). My husband was again "okay" with #5, a small triangle, and I neglected to tell him I was getting #6, a small Bigfoot. But what was done was done, and I ran 200 miles in the wilderness while he was out getting drunk, so what was he going to say? I was 43 the afternoon he called me when I was in the tattoo shop getting #7. He said, "Where are you?" and I said, "I'm getting tattoo. I forgot to tell you." [I didn't forget]. It's a tug-of-war rope that runs the length of my left forearm. By then I had read Hanif Abdurraqib's essay "Brief Notes on Staying" about 100 times: "[t]he way I think about grief is that it is a the great tug-of-war, and sometimes the flag is on the side you don't want it to be on ... even though I am sad, my hands are still on the rope. I am making my best work when my hands are on the rope, even if I'm not pulling back." It felt easier to get the tattoo than to keep torturing myself by reading that essay. I checked into a hotel the next day. My divorce has been final since April.
I haven’t done it yet - the tattoo - and officially missed the 20-year-mark (it was last August), but that’s only because I’m still thinking about what would be the most meaningful/symbolic to me. It will probably be between a literary quote or the constellation of the Phoenix. I was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis (MS) 20 years ago, when I was only 16. They apparently weren’t diagnosing “children” back then. So yeah, it has definitely put me on a life path I didn’t predict or plan, but as I’ve gotten older and realized it’s dumb to think you’ll have the future life your 16-year-old self thought you would have, I’m completely cool with who I’ve become (both the good and the bad).
I got my first at age 18 and back then no women I knew had tattoos. I had my tallest, largest girlfriend go with me to the sleazy guy in Boulder Colorado and only let him put a rose on my ankle. In 2021 I treated myself to another tattoo for my 65th birthday present to myself. It is on my left arm, visible most of the time in the clothes I wear here in Hawaiʻi, and symbolizes the connection to the previous 30 years and my growth over the 30 years ahead. I did get divorced twice in between the two...but no particular correlation!
Had one previous to divorce (and marriage for that matter). Got another during the divorce, but it was one I was considering getting for quite a while. It’s a lowercase é - the first letter of my daughter’s name and it’s on the inside of my wrist. I thought long and hard about the font (Ogg-which sounds like egg, which is where she came from) and if it should be upper or lowercase. It’s tiny. Like a piece of jewelry almost. And I got it around the time I stopped wearing my wedding ring. So perhaps some symbolism there - committing to my kid in the most permanent of ways while disbanding from my ex.
I already had tattoos before getting divorced, but the first one I got in the wake of it was pretty special, because it was during me and my new partner’s first solo trip together. We went to Milwaukee and visited a friend of ours (@gillysmash) who owns Shock Treatment Tattoo and spent hours pouring over books of flash. We were downing dollar cans of Hamm’s that he had loaded into the vending machine and taking breaks to smoke cigarettes. Finally I settled on a chubby girl riding a seahorse, CLASSIC Sailor Jerry. She was so fun and pink-cheeked and just floating. Looking back I don’t think I necessarily found any significance in it at the *time*, but I certainly do now. Since getting divorced I’ve found so much more joy in getting tattooed. It’s a ritualistic activity that, unlike my marriage, is truly “‘til death”.
I was 33, married (still am FWIW), and it is the yantra of the goddess Kali. I am a white Episcopalian lady but have always found Kali to be fascinating and alluring and at the time of the tattoo some very woo things lined up in my life right around the time I put a picture of her up in my office. I had her re-touched in 2017 and added her mantra in Sanskrit below it. She's on my left wrist and I adore her. For the most part the reaction was positive although my mother is still not a fan of ink. I'm a trial lawyer and at the time was in a conservative town so I needed to be able to cover up the tattoo for jury trials. Nowadays people seem to care a lot less. There will definitely be more ink in my future once the right one shows itself to me
I got my first tattoo in 2007 after my daughter passed from a brain tumour. I was married at the time.
The pain of the tattoo helped process my pain and it strongly represents her.
My second tattoo came after my separation, while I was trying to convince him to sign divorce papers; he was certain I was having a midlife crisis, and I would be back. It was a massive 13 hour Mandela on my back. No I don’t regret it. It represents my boundaries, the energy I put out into the world, and the energy that comes back to me. Again, the pain of the tattoo helped process the pain I was going through in life.
My third tattoo is less dramatic, I wanted something to represent my Canadian self, so I have a small Mandela Mapleleaf. I do believe that I’m done, however, I thought I was done after the first one.
I love my tattoos, and I don’t regret them at all
I got my tattoo 30+ years ago (I'm at the other end of the story spectrum, I had just gotten married, or was about to get married? I can't remember) at a run down shop on the edge of the French Quarter. It is on my instep and is a design that a Tuareg artisan designed for me. (I was living in Niger at the time)