After my rape, I chose to get tattoos. At first, it might seem like a simple choice—art on my body—but when I reflect, I realize it was so much deeper. God wasn’t mad that I tatted my body up; He was glad I chose tattoos over gunshot wounds or cuts. My tattoos are my forever reminder that I survived successfully.

Both tattoos and suicide are permanent. People notice when you get a new tattoo, just like people notice when someone is gone forever. But while one marks the end, my tattoos mark life. They are beauty, resilience, and a testament to survival. God is happy I chose permanence that is positive, meaningful, and pretty.

Funny enough, maybe getting tatted was also preparing me for my future as a writer. Tattoos are words and symbols printed on your body. Writing is words and symbols printed on paper. Both are forms of storytelling, and both require boldness. My tattoos were my first canvas, teaching me to claim my story unapologetically and express it creatively. Each tattoo is a mini-chapter of survival and identity—the prologue to my writing journey.

Choosing tattoos was a choice for life, for beauty, for storytelling. Every mark on my skin whispers: I survived, I’m still here, and I own my story. With my book 📕 I got judged for some of my words, same with my body, I got judged for some of my tattoos, yet I didn’t care, I kept getting tatted unapologetically, and with my book 📕 I don’t care, I’ll keep writing unapologetically!