I got a new tattoo today, one that holds great meaning for me. It feels like rather a lot to explain in a blog post, but what I’d like to describe right now is the motivation for getting tattooed, which many people do not personally have or understand. That’s perfectly fine, as long as one’s preference not to get tattooed doesn’t turn into this idea that you can pass judgment on those who do like them. Nevertheless, it’s a common question. Why tattoos? Why voluntarily subject yourself to pain and permanent modification?

I can’t tell you why everyone does it. But I can tell you why I do it.

Because, sometimes, it just is not enough to simply know.

Sometimes, it’s not enough to know in your mind and heart, in your memory. Sometimes there’s stuff you’re holding onto inside and there isn’t enough space there to hold it. Sometimes it needs to live on the outside of your body.

Sometimes, no matter how many times you look at parts of your body and know what it endured, and your victory over that history, you still need an inked-in reminder at the ready.

Sometimes, you need to feel the burn of the needle etching that permanent reminder into your skin, so you can feel the pain of that experience one final time. Sometimes you need that pain to validate those memories, to affirm to yourself that you did indeed go through that, and now you’ve made it here.

Scars remind us the past is real, to quote a Papa Roach song lyric. But sometimes you need to bring your scars to life, so you have indisputable proof that you lived through times that so often feel stranger than fiction.

Sometimes, you need to remember who you are.