This is not going to be a political post although to news junkies, it might seem like it at first.
Last week, a well-known political commentator talked about how some people will never be employed because they “have tattoos on their foreheads.”
I thought about it. Then looked in the mirror.
Do I have a tattoo on my forehead?
Yes. Yes, I do.
It is invisible and it probably changes every day. But it still stops people from seeing the real me.
The tattoo distracts to the extent that I can’t even see the real me.
I’m going to generalize and guess that maybe we all have tattoos on our foreheads.
Mine says I’m a bad daughter, bad mother, overweight and aging wannabe writer who is misunderstood by everyone and never invited to the party. Ahh, poor baby.
Yet, some people do love me, even my children occasionally say nice things about me, and I am surviving cancer. Those things don’t seem to show up in my tattoo.
Where is the doctor? I’m going to get that damn tattoo removed as soon as possible.
Then when thinking about the tattoos marking me, I wander over to the sticky web of love and traps.
Love traps. Loving someone but knowing that she is caught in a trap that prevents you from being able to help her without getting caught in the trap yourself. I realize the trap of my own making is the one of feeling helpless and out of control. (Hence all of the bad things screaming out to me from my invisible tattoo.) I don’t want to sweep the people I love into that trap. I will have to get out of it myself. How?
By letting go and accepting what is, I suppose.
This trap theme is something I need to keep front and center in my writing. Making my memoir and other stories look back to this tragedy of not being able to change the fate of the people you love.
Now, back to the ink. Is there a tattoo on your forehead keeping you from getting what it is you think you need? A tattoo that tells us something about the trap that has caught you?