I often forget about this tattoo. This is the most risque ink I’ve etched into my skin ; or rather, the placement of it is. It’s on my hip. It’s easily seen with a swimsuit bottom on, which is how I got it, but nonetheless, it was as much intimidating for me, as it was a personal statement for myself.
The “spiral” has longheld meaning, across generations and cultures. About the same time I got this tattoo, I found this artistic explaination,
And this is the struggle that I’m confronted with daily regarding the meaning of this symbolism. I struggle with truly loving myself; or at least aspects of myself. You see, twice in my lifetime, by two different men who were supposedly in my life to love and protect me, celebrate and honor me, I was sexually assaulted. The pain wasn’t inflicted by some stranger in a dark alley; it was chosen by someone who KNEW me well, who KNEW where and how I trusted him the most, who KNEW how it would destroy the parts of me that only HE had held close. Experiencing sexual assault is a betrayal that victimizes in the deepest way possible. It is the greatest form of punishment one can inflict on someone else. The wounds slice deep; gouging the most sacred of places in a soul.
Sleeping with the enemy became more than just a movie title for me.
It’s why, at this point in my life, I struggle with ever seeing myself as sexy, or attractive, or “flirty” in any way. For years I wore clothes two sizes too big, in bland, neutral colors, that allowed me to blend into the woodwork. My whole goal was to be forgotten. I wanted no curves showing; I wanted to be flat. It’s the reason why my daughter used to believe that all dark colored clothes were signs of weakness, because that’s all I would wear until after I left their father. To this day I have to purpose to wear brighter-colored, fitted clothes, forcing myself to look like the woman that I am. Inside I’m still a tomboy, before adolescence hit, because life was far safer then.
Oh, I had a wonderful sex drive at one point. I cherished the bridal showers I had where I received lingerie; and I used to have fun shopping at Victoria’s Secret for underwear and “underlings”. I considered myself a “frisky” person who couldn’t wait to be married and be intimate. My modesty was something that I deeply prided myself in, saving myself, believing that honoring God in this area of my life would lead to a deeply rich and satifying sex life with a husband one day.
But then you are left bloody, and it’s not because of your period. And you are belittled in every way- psychologically, mentally, emotionally, and verbally. And the comparisons to porn sex that you are required to watch in order to “help” you be more of what they “need”, leave you feeling dirty. And the desire for you to perform like a previously freakish affair, and one-night stand, awash you with the slime and scum of what it means to feel whoreish. And you become the sponge, soaking up the blatant betrayal and adultery you come to find out about, all while the fingers are pointed at you as to the problems for their sex drive, because it’s your problem they can’t perform, when in reality they’re simply worn out from performing all to well, with someone else, on the side. And the comprehensive fractures, and tearing away of trust and safety, eventually wears you down. And then strips you of your ability to feel like a whole woman. And you shut down. And you break apart. And you forget to breathe.
And so, my spiral tattoo was a way for me to remember that I am still a woman, that I am on a journey to become whole again. And that being whole means that one day maybe I WILL feel sexy, and frisky, and attractive “in that way” again. And that loving myself DOES mean allowing myself to feel with desire, and that maybe one day that desire won’t lead to pain, but to pleasure.
Women who have been traumatized in this way usually become one of two things. They become the “whore” that they were treated as, believing that they will never amount to anything more than how they were objectified. Or they become almost asexual, boarding up, shutting down…”winterizing” the deepest parts of them that made them vulnerable to the attack in the first place .
I chose the latter. And I’m ok with that for now…. But one day, hopefully, I will look down at this spiral, and it won’t just be a beckoning to me of the sacral that needs to be reborn; instead it will be a faint reminder to me of the still before a summer storm.