I’ve been looking forward to this post for a while now. My tattoo artist came to town last week so now it’s time to talk about one of the more unusual aspects of my chronic pain: tattoo therapy.

With 4 or more 6+ hour-long sessions under my belt, it’s safe to assume that I’m a champ in the chair. This was my very first tattoo:

This monster of a piece took 30+ hours and my forearm alone was an 8 hour session all at once. But I had no idea I would be a good “sitter”. When I first decided that I wanted to get this tattoo, I had no idea if my tolerance would be lower or higher than most. I have pretty terrible skin sensitivity and injuries can cause my entire body to flare, so it really could have gone either way. Lucky for me though, tattoo pain was a walk in the park compared to my chronic pain.

A lot of people can try to tell you what getting a tattoo feels like. The way I describe it is if you had a really bad sunburn and someone was dragging a scratchy mechanical pencil over it. The pain is vague though, it’s hard to tell exactly where it’s coming from and after a while, the vibrating of the machine numbs out the area that’s being worked on. There are also some areas that are more sensitive than others, like my wrist and thigh hurt a lot more than my bicep or shoulder.

Now, I have a theory for why I handle tattoo sessions so well. I don’t think it’s because it literally hurts less for me. I think it’s the mental game of withstanding discomfort for such a long period of time. Pain is very psychological and I found that my decade and counting of pain management helped me prepare for tattoos. I had already experienced thousands of nights where I had to sit and take the pain of a flare, writhing in agony and trying to keep my breathing steady. I’ve also had horrible attacks of pain outside of the comfort of my own home so putting on my “this is fine” face in public was a skill I mastered after so many years.



Tattoo pain is more acute but I used the same mental techniques to learn how to sit for long periods of time.

Breathing through the sensitive parts is number 1. I try to relax and keep my breaths at a regular pace to keep from hyperventilating and possibly fainting.

Leaning into the pain is next. There’s no point in tensing up, flinching can mess up your artist but it’s also more painful to be tense than to relax your body and just let the pain happen. It’s kind of like being cold. Constricting your muscles–a very natural response–actually limits blood flow to the rest of your body, making it even harder to stay warm. My harsh winters in Canada helped with this perhaps. The concept is the same for tattooing.

Re-assigning a painful sensation as a pleasant sensation is difficult but possible. When I was getting my elbow done, I quickly discovered that telling myself it “tickled” made it…well…tickle. I just told myself that that intense and bizarre buzzing needle on my elbow was ticklish and so it was. I giggled through the whole thing.

Distracting yourself with other things like a book, or really anything on your phone these days, helps with the psychological parts I’ve mentioned. If you’re sitting there under the needle and focusing on how much it hurts, you’re going to have a bad time.

This too shall pass. Just something I mentally prep myself to realize. There were parts on my ribs, for example, that were so painful that they were nauseating. But I sat through it knowing it would be temporary. Just like a flare.

So that’s my rib tattoo that sucked in places. I sat for 7 hours on the outline and 6 hours on the color. But I don’t try to pretend that I’m some superhuman with no pain at all. I just think that 10+ years of occasionally debilitating pain preps you for shit like this. Pain is so familiar for me that tattooing can actually take the focus away from the rest of my body. So one cyborg arm and rainbow phoenix later, I’m a great tattoo sitter.

Now I bet you’re probably wondering what the significance of these tattoos is. You’re in luck because I’ll tell you. And if you’re a friend of mine who has asked this question, I’m about to give you the real answer.

Steampunk Gears Full Sleeve

I saw a design similar to this 7 years before I got this tattoo. I waited THAT long to make sure I still wanted it.

I had been battling my health for so long and I was finally out of school and had time to focus on weight lifting and eating healthy. I was doing a great job of it and I felt very proud of myself. This was during the time when I was drawing those Lines of Chalk in the mountainsides of East Rock.

Right after I got my diagnosis I figured, “ Well, if I have this awful thing forever, I’d like something nice forever too. “

“ I felt like a machine the way I kept moving forward. Back in the day when each step was truly an accomplishment, I kept fighting through it and wanted a reminder of how I can keep going. This design was a permanent reminder that I won’t ever quit.

It looks fucking cool, man.

Phoenix Ribs

I finally felt almost normal again when I saw a design similar to this. It was purely just gorgeous and appealing to me but the sentiment of “rising from the ashes” felt nice to me. Call it cheesy but I’d like to see how someone else copes with having to crawl to the bathroom crying and throwing up from the pain of your knee cap being pulled against your tendons and femur. Typical week night for me a few years ago.

Black Panther & Fox Skull Silhouette

I thought these just looked cool. End of story. Here they are below:

I guess the reason I keep going back for more ink is because something good came of my chronic pain for once. My pain helped me succeed at something. Do you have any idea how rare that is? Call me a masochist, but you don’t understand what it’s like to live with debilitating chronic illnesses unless you have them.

Once you’re sick, everything is worse about every aspect of life. Everything. School, work, romance, social life, body image, food, strength, sleep all goes to shit. Sufferers learn how to cope and make life as comfortable as possible but nothing is ever the same. I’ll never be a state competing tennis player again, I’ll never play music professionally again, I’ll never run again, and some foods I can never eat again. But I can sit through an 8 hour tattoo session with a Snickers and a comfy sweater and tell my artist that it “tickles”.

I’ll take what I can get!

Thanks for reading,

-Elle