Going Rogue (Why I Pierced)

FAQ for Lauren's Recently Acquired Eyebrow Ring

"Did it hurt?"

Yes.  Especially the last part, when the fat needle broke through from the inside out.  The dude with the abundant dreds pulled back in a neat bun on top of his head called me "honey" and told me to breathe in deep and since he'd already driven the point in I figured the worst was over and I was wrong.  But my brother and sister-in-law held my hand, which was both tender and comforting.  Thanks, T and K.

I'd also like to say that I was super hardcore and did not even wince.  However, my deep breath was very breathy.

"Does it hurt now?"

Nope.  Except when Gabby crawls into bed with us after a nightmare and snuggles her tiny body up against mine and dozes for a short while before needing to shift positions, at which point she flings her arms wildly to give her roll-over the proper momentum, her left hand connecting with my cheek, forehead and, most unfortuantely, my left eyebrow.  Then it hurts like hell.

"What does your husband think?"

He says it's sexy. 
But then again, I am his only source of carnal revelry, so he aint no fool.

Here I feel I should add that his opinion regarding my eyebrow ring is one of the very few I care much about (aside from my own, of course) so the rest of you are welcome to hate, love, envy, despise or entertain a weird desire to lick it, for all I care.  It mattereth not to me.

 And lastly, my father's broken-hearted imploration:  "Why Lauren?  Why?"

Oh my.  For starters, I'll tell you what I told about a hundred of my neighbors and friends last week when my ecclisiastical leader was courageous enough to give our family the pulpit for an entire Sunday meeting.  My explanation went like this:

"You may have noticed that I recently acquired a new piece of jewlery which I understand some of you might not agree with.  That's OK.  Believe it or not, it is serving as a much-needed source of emotional therapy for me.  So if it helps, feel free to think of it as a medical device, there to improve my mental health."
Ba-dum-bum-ching!

 

 

 

(me and my sis being major dorks.  she's also good for my mental health)
 

That's right, ladies and gents.  My sister's not the only funny one in the family.  Don't forget to tip your waiters!

But honestly, it's a pretty accurate explanation.  Here's another one: about six months ago I broke.  Shattered, really, into a million tiny, jagged edged pieces.  I broke so hard, in fact, that I could no longer piece myself back together again (as I have been doing for as long as I can remember).  At first it was unbearably frightening.  My world withered, drained of its color, filled to overflowing with pain and I couldn't explain why.  No matter where or how hard I searched, I could not find joy or comfort or even peace.  I could not quiet the incessant panic, could not fight the dark and dragging, could not stop the black hole that had opened in me from sucking away every ounce of the precious hope I had once held in safe harbor.

And when I looked in the mirror, I could not recognize myself.

Who was I?  Was I who my parents needed me to be?  Who my church leaders wanted to see?   Who I thought my husband deserved?   Who I wished my friends to want?  Was I a million different things to a million different people, and nothing to myself?

So it goes with those robbed of childhood, when others' needs are how you learn to define yourself.  (Here I'll let you create a palatable elaboration of your own because anything said on such matters would only serve to distract from my point, as well as deal needless blows.  Use that marvelous imagination of yours to fill in the blanks)

The very first time I met my therapist she looked straight at me and said, "This has been coming at you for 30 years, hon.  You're damn lucky not to have fallen farther, hit harder, splattered right onto the proverbial pavement after walking the plank that you did for so long."  Lucky... not exactly how I felt at that moment, if I'm being super honest.   I'll admit I dragged my heals finding the silver lining, but I've got my eye on it now and yes, am grateful that my broken bits were given refuge in the most gentle, most merciful and, without a doubt, most unlikely places.

I realized that I had spent 33 years defining myself by the things I hoped would bring me the approval of others.  It was a pursuit which had left me exhausted, empty and full of loathing for both myself and the world around me.  Worst still, it was a lie, a sham, a hastily-made shelter I took refuge under that slowly became too heavy to uphold - pressing and crushing until there was nothing left but rubble.  In the strong arms of those who truly loved me, I curled inward and found rest.  respite.  rescue.

The winter passed.  And the spring.  I went to school.  I went to therapy.  I went to Oregon.  I went to 2-hour yoga classes.  I went to the Sundance Film Festival.  I went to the Snow Patrol concert.  I went to the Holi celebration.  All the while, looking for myself.  Finding a piece here - a piece there.  Gathering, collecting.  Soon enough I was ready to rebuild.

But my fears remained.  Was I headed back to the easy path, creating the girl the world wanted me to be?  The temptation to willingly do so was great.  The possibility that I would end up there without realizing it was even greater.  I had to truly let go of my need for acceptance.  I had to know that however I rebuilt would be good enough for me.  Just me.

 I decided to force my own hand.  I did something I've always wanted to do, but never felt I could because I feared rejection.  When I was 15 there was a girl in my debate class with an eyebrow ring.  She was beautiful, kind, confident, open-hearted and soooo uber-cool.  She was everything I wanted to be but didn't know how.  I secretly suspected that her (super) power came from her eyebrow ring, because it was bold and unique and said to the world that she didn't need their approval.  She liked herself.  And I wanted that.

So, 18 years later, I pierced.
 

I'd like to say it's been nothing but sweet smelling, perpetually blooming, red red roses ever since.  There have definitely been high points, for sure.  But there have also been lows -  difficult conversations, the loss of a few friends, some cold shoulders.  Not everyone is capable of accepting something they find unacceptable, even in someone who's heart they know.  So be it.

 

I figure, if you can't love me with one tiny little hoop on my face, you never truly loved me in the first place.  Better to know and go my own way.