Tattoo Tower Moment: Surviving the Shifting Current of Industry
I find myself in the last line of the old guard of tattooing, looking down our noses at the brazen disregard for foundations and legacy present in this newest wave of gatecrashers. At only 5 years into my professional career, I did not expect to take on an “old-timers” mentality so early on, but I am grateful for the traditional apprenticeship upbringing that I was given- and hold much resentment this new direction has taken us. No matter how big my feelings are about it, the fact remains that things have changed, and the energy it takes to stand in resistance has left me an empty husk of human meat.
Social Media Has Changed the Game
The days of the loud hum permeating your bones as you flip through stacks of painted flash to find your next tattoo are gone, and admittedly something I never experienced as a professional, nor did I ever want to. When I entered the game, the Old Timers were upset at the “Pinterest Tattoos”, complaining that this is the new flash, the new fad, and how it sucks. As an Elderly Millennial, Pinterest has helped me collage many an idea out. I have no problem guiding a client through the process of taking that idea and turning it into something that is applicable with their body and budget in mind. This was a change familiar to me, so there wasn’t much of an integration process.
We have since shifted into the age of content creation.
I easily see the dualistic nature of all things, but when it comes to the entity that is the Social Network, I have a hard time seeing the light. I see the success and freedom that it can bring other people, and yet I feel a hard blockage in this area.
It’s ANXIETY.
Not the blasé, overused term of upset, but the ground-shaking palpitations that warn of imminent death.
Panic.
Universe, you are once again asking me to go where I can not!
I have a sort of Social Anxiety that has left me stranded adrift, going the way of the polar bear. I have gone months without checking inboxes, social platforms, and texts, unable to physically dredge forth the energy to deal with one more demand of my personal essence. I am struggling to get out of bed and eat most days and there is never an end to social demand on a frazzled, nervous, neurotic wreck who’s only solace is dreams of oblivion. Perpetually thrown in a cycle of hypervigilance and burnout, where passing traffic and phone notifications send off the same signals of incoming bullet-fire. I find it to be rather exhausting and am ready to get off this ride, but as the obstinate fool that I am, I figure… fuck it. Maybe we can make a little change.
Old Wounds, Old Stories
This is where I currently sit, as the void is the only place I am able to process at the moment. My mental, emotional, and physical bodies have no issues with complete shut down in the face of such enormity and I have no choice but to surrender to it for a time being. I had an ex who would always tease, “stop being investigator!” but it’s just a mark of who I Am. Investigator of Darkness, Discomfort, and Dis-Ease.
The mess is the message, and I guess I have to sit in it a little while longer so that I might re-frame and re-approach a deep-seeded belief pattern that lends itself to this feeling of high activation surrounding the calling, and need, to adapt.
I’ll Change, But Don’t Expect Me to Like It!
I didn’t always have this heavy heart surrounding human interactions. In my elementary school days I had no problem being a social butterfly, and have always found it easy to find common ground with just about anybody. My heart wasn’t hardened by the circumstances I was born into, and the events that were unfolding that I had little comprehension of their lasting impacts. Public speaking and taking center stage were never problems, and this double Gemini, Leo Rising was built for the limelight! I have always believed in whatever I committed to with fervor and hyperfixation, believing always in my message and my artistic output without wavering. I never had a hard time believing in myself, and often demanded that you sit the fuck down and hear me out.
The thing is, people don’t care what 15 year old girls have to say.
I have a very distinct memory of being on the cusp of turning 16, excitedly exclaiming to my bestie in biology how excited I was because “people will finally take me seriously!” At the cusp of 34 I am still waiting for this to happen, but then again, maybe the time for waiting around has passed. It might be time to demand to be heard.
We now find ourselves in a position where people ARE listening to what 15 year olds have to say, and it’s all thanks to social media. Here is where my shadow starts to show herself. I find myself in fits of outrage that people are still focusing on shallow matters, playing highschool popularity games, mob mentality and frenzies; idolizing vapid bourgeoisie privilege that laughs in the face of the structures that have to exist to allow for billionaires. It sparks a moral outrage that ripples throughout generations in my bloodlines, and threatens to consume me. It’s better to stay off of the platforms that highlight this. Return to my hole in the ground, where I know the names of my flowers and furry friends, and stay away from all of that nasty “human” business.
I am not like these People!
I can almost hear the crickets singing to the stars in the background, as the early double-digits child version of me gazed up to them, begging for answers from the silent community. I don’t know why I was there, crying up the sky on a clear summer’s night, but I do remember wishing how they’d take me home.
“I’m not like them” I cry out, “please… take me home!”
I’ve never understood people; their desire to hurt ANYTHING, let alone their fellow humans. I could always feel a connection and deep love for everything around me and hold it in such reverence, that to see it shat upon in all aspects is devastating. Having been born into a deeply Christian family, I lost my connection to their god at 14, not understanding how it could allow such horrible things to happen to their flock. It’s a wound I’m not over, but it’s now a bone I have to pick with the patriarchy, and we’ll leave the spirits out of it.
But, Like…. You Totally Are!
I first stepped into this world of “Spiritual Awakening” (a very loaded term, but aptly so I suppose) in 2020, when I found peace and happiness for the first time. I was able to devote my time and energy to reading, writing, tarot, kitties, gardening, and long sun soaked snuggles with my dog, nibbling on fruit co-created with the soil and seasons. Instead of clocking in and putting on a mask of being “okay” I could get weird about meditation practices, and I was led to this concept of “starseed”. This was the first loose thread on the mohair sweater of new-age thinking that started the process of perceiving things a little bit differently. I found that I am far from the only person with the experience of begging the stars to return us home.
Funny thing about stars is that you need to be in the darkness to see them…
The last few years have led me to get serious about the insights I was able to garner from my astrological practice. Long story short, feeling like an alien outcast hated by the others is on brand for my natal chart.
To disconnect is to protect, but now all signs are pointing to needing to plug back in.
I have no answers at this point, only a tale of resistance. There is an inkling toward a path forward, but my legs and heart are heavy so it’s not going as quickly as I would like.
All I know is that for a moment longer, I have to disconnect from the outside world so I can rebuild my inner foundations, as they are very much “shook”. I need a moment in the void so I can re-establish my energetic boundaries so that I can go forward into the Brave New World in a way that doesn’t have me pacing from room to room fearing the need to check an email.