My tattoo artist charges $145/hour. My therapist $200. And yet, I dreaded therapy, never providing the sweet release of a 6 hour tatt session. My artist was always kind. Showing they cared about my experience even though they were aware of the impending pain. This relaxed me. Open about what might happen, swelling, nervous twitches, changes in body temperature, fatigue …. and to make sure I stayed hydrated, ate high protein foods, and avoided caffeine and ibuprofen because they thin the blood making it impossible to tattoo. They wanted me to be as comfortable as possible, provided me with as much information as they could, and shared whatever tips and tricks they had learned along the way.

My therapist assumes the role of decision maker. Signing a consent form = trusting their “expertise”. What strategies they used, what interventions they chose, what information they cared to bestow upon me was selectively curated, titrated, managed, and gate kept by the troll under the bridge wearing a red cross. But they are here to help and have decided that they know best how to do it. It’s obvious my therapist has never been tattooed. Missing the mark so many times, the hour ended and I found myself in pain without the tools to know how to soothe myself. Ice packs, turmeric tea, rest, elevation, special bandages, and ointments were only for a certain kind of pain. The tattoo pain .

What continues to strike me though is the lack of my therapist to provide me with any tools at all. There is an assumption that an hour a week or an hour every other week is enough to help work through the pain, the trauma, to heal. why wasn’t I equipped with tools? It is almost as if their existence depends on me continuing to show up, to shell out, to hurt. Why were there no instructions on how to love myself? On how to offer myself compassion? On how to sit with pain, simply be present, a proverbial blanket.

Therapy becomes a medical prescription delivered orally. A once a week injection. Side-effects may include:

• nausea, dry-mouth, difficulty sleeping, self-doubt, self-hate, irritability, diahrrhea, weight loss, weight gain, vomitting, dread, suicidality, isolation, dependence, financial ruin, headaches

“You just haven’t found the right therapist. You won’t have a rapport with everyone”

What is the fucking point? Even if there are some “good” therapists, you end up with a system where a privileged few get paid, make an income off claiming to help or heal others – without any way to measure, prove, or evaluate these claims – and people who are suffering, in -pain, fighting to stay alive, to survive, are tasked with telling their story over

                               and

                                over

                                 and

                                 over

                                   and

                                   over

                                    and

                                      over

                                      and

                                       over

again, until they find the “right fit” or someone decides to listen…. A one-sided dating app where the costs for the one desperately seeking care and validation are high. Splitting the bill is never an option.

My tattoo artist has an instagram page. I could see their work, compare it to what I needed, what I wanted, and reach out with an idea, a request, and get a free consult, a free assessment and a clear communication of whether they felt they could help me or not.

I found an academic article about the connection between tattooing and sexual assault. I wasn’t the only one who sought out the art and practice tattoo as a form of self-therapy. I wish the social worker, tenure track, ‘trauma-informed” academic had read this article. Maybe they wouldn’t have laughed at my tattoos when I attended a meeting in shorts, ink exposed (how unprofessional of me). They knew about my trauma. But then again, I don’t think they cared. Deep down, I think they believe that what happened to me was my fault, that I should have done differently, known better, and therefore I deserved it. They are a representative of the system(s) that feel the same. Ignore my pain and tell me to get over it but only using the tools they have first approved.

I think my tattoo artist helped save my life. She must have because I know my therapist didn’t.