My story is written in the trees // the tattoo

my story is written in the trees / a thousand threads
So I got a tattoo of a tree… at Christmas.

We’ll just ignore that last fact.

I may decide to decorate it if things get awkward… put a little star on top, a baby Jesus by its side…

But really though, I got a tattoo of a tree. An evergreen. The kind of tree I climbed as a kid, and the kind of tree I’d spend all of my days underneath if I could. When I moved from Oregon to California, leaving my home for the first time at 18, I cried every day… I’d never lived somewhere with so few. It was all grey, no green… and even though I came around eventually, evergreens, Oregon, the outdoors… those are the things that have taken up residence on my heart, my bones, and now on my arm.

But my decision to finally take the jump and get my first tattoo goes far beyond the tree.

For a long time now, I’ve struggled with the fear of regret, sure that any truly permanent decision would result in a lifetime of agony and remorse. With this knowledge under my skin, I lived with one eye on the exit — always with a backup plan, just in case something fell through. And in a lot of ways, especially in my professional life, I still live that way. It’s something I work on all the time — but professionally, I can’t say it’s always entirely bad.

Personally, though, is another story. Personally it’s entirely bad.

my story is written in the trees / a thousand threads
The story starts in many ways with Mark… who found me broken and glued my pieces back together at a time when I had no idea who I was, or even who I wanted to be. He nursed me back and helped me thrive. He continues to, and over the years I hope I’ve thanked him even a tenth of the times he deserves.

When I was more broken than I am now — I was fairly certain that I didn’t want kids. I didn’t think I could commit to one myself, and I didn’t feel I had a partner I could trust to keep me sane if I tried. But as the pieces have fallen into place, as I’ve grown and changed (and frankly, grown up and gotten to know myself a little bit better) all of that has too. In many ways, I envy the girls who choose to start families young — how sure they seem to be of their intention to procreate, and how fulfilled their lives are once they have. It’s always seemed to me like they’re living their dream. That’s something that so few people have.

My dreams have always been different… to travel, to write, to experience every bit of life before it’s over. And that’s not to say that those dreams and having a child are mutually exclusive. I’ve wondered for a long time whether one can really experience all that life has to offer without feeling the love that comes along with parenthood. And a lot of folks would correct me here – but Laicie you’re a stepmom now. And I’d agree – you have to know I’d kill for that guy. I’ve been there since he was two and there’s no doubt in my mind that I love him now and forever just as much as I will love my own. But we’re part time… and default… I didn’t make the decision to love this little guy, I made the decision to love his father… and then it just was. And raising one child part time, just in case you’re wondering, does not make it easier to make the decision to raise another child ALL THE TIME. It’s still another ball game altogether.

But Austin has made me stronger too… and helped me to realize that maybe the permanent decisions aren’t so bad. Because without worrying or overanalyzing, without even thinking about it… I made the permanent decision to love him for as long as I live.

I’m still scared of the permanency of the decision to have children. I’m still scared I’ll feel trapped, or frustrated, or angry, or weak — and I’m fairly sure I’ll feel all of those things at one time or another. But I’m beginning to realize – through Austin, through Mark, and through the ups and downs of life — that when there’s real love there… there is no regret. It’s just not even a thing.

So, in many ways, my little tattoo is the baby I’ve been so scared of for so many years. It’s stubborn, subject to changing intentions, and god willing, it will be there for as long as I live. Taking the leap toward something so permanent, so risky, wasn’t something I could have done a decade ago. (I would have if I could have.) But it is something I’m able to do now. And it’s something I hope to do more of in the future – in my eventual decision to have children, in my work, in my dreams, and in my life as a whole.

So here’s to a new year and a few new risks — because I have to say that so far, worry is just worry, and I don’t feel one ounce of regret.

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