Some might wonder why I chose to get a tattoo. After all, as a thirty-year-old, stay at home mom from suburbia; I don’t really fit the stereotype. I am not a drunken eighteen year old college student, I don’t own a motorcycle, and I don’t have any masochistic tendencies (except for the self flagellation over my inherent imperfection).

So what inspired me to permanently mark myself? It all started with an astrology reading. Look, I know, I already sounded like a kook with the tattoo thing, but bear with me. My best friend bought me an hour-long consultation with a professional astrologer for my 30^th birthday. Part of me, the practical side of me scoffed at the idea, but the other part, the whimsical part buried under dusty piles of responsibility and practicality was thrilled at the prospect. I won’t get into all the details, but after the reading I called my girlfriend in tears. See I believe that with astrology, or any other such mystical experience what you take away from it is more important than what is actually said. And what I took away from this reading changed my life.

I was hiding. Hiding from the terror of my potential. Hiding behind motherhood and wifehood and a suburban existence I once declared a fate worse than death. But the problem wasn’t with any of those things, it was within me. I had become the things I most feared: uninteresting, unmotivated, unfulfilled. Sure I love my husband and son, and I love my house in suburbia. But it wasn’t really about those things. I lost the things that made me me. Not "me the mom" or "me the wife". Me. "You need more time alone, you need more spontaneity, you need more fun. You need to pursue your interests in order to be happy." The words from the astrology reading gave me the permission I needed to let my crazy side— the side I packed away after college—to reemerge.

I dabbled with fiction writing for years. Then in 2005 I got serious. Most of my friends had no idea I secretly aspired to write romance. In my circle, unevolved women read romances, or house wives who long ago abandoned their potential. I have noticed though that their evolution doesn’t keep them warm at night, nor do their high-paying jobs or graduate degrees. But I secretly read romance for years. And finally, as I approached my 30^th birthday I decided to go for it. Six months later I was half way done with my manuscript. I started out strong, with great feedback from everyone who read it, including a multi-published romance author.

My astrology reading confirmed my pursuit of writing and showed potential for much success. Look out Nora Roberts! But I became a deadly combo of overconfident and lazy. I wrote when I wanted to, knowing that it would all come together eventually. Then it was a matter of time until I walked away with a five-figure advance. Then I lost my way—a victim of the sagging middle. The shark at the door started talking. You know him—the bastard who tells you how worthless and talentless you are. Reminds you that people will laugh at you if you put yourself out there. Ruthlessly whispers that no one will ever love you.

Logically I know the shark is the only obstacle between me and my dreams. No external struggles can compete with a person determined to sabotage herself. I decided I need a talisman against the shark. Something I could look at and remember to never open that door, because the shark lurked outside waiting to attack. So I decided I’d get a shark design on my back. But I didn’t want a negative symbol. I wanted to focus on positive thinking. And honestly, I wanted something pretty. I finally decided after a week of deliberation (so much for spontaneity) to get an eight-point star on my right shoulder blade. The eight-point star symbolizes fullness or regeneration. To different people it looks like a flower, a star, or the sun. To me it is all those things. But most of all I finally have my talisman. No, I can’t see it without a mirror or some major neck contortions, but I know it’s there. My badge of courage. Not just a symbol for courage and success, but also the proof that I had the courage to go through with it.

I love my tattoo. I confidently wear tanks tops now to show off my masterpiece. To the world I declare, "I don’t give damn what you think because it makes me happy." I feel confident because I had the guts do it. And one day, I will feel this way about my book too—once I have the guts to go through with it.