From Clutch–In 2001, I got a tattoo. I’d been talking about wanting a black butterfly, specifically one with an Afro, since my junior year. To me, it would have “deep” meaning, be less fashion statement, or trend, unlike the ever-popular “tramp stamp,” Asian symbols, or shoulder tats of their zodiac signs to which most of my friends had committed, some with regret, some without. In the way that butterflies are often used figuratively, mine would represent growth, the change from black girl to black woman as I, well, grew up and chased after my dreams.
At the time, my dreams seemed impossible, and there weren’t many people exactly rooting for me to flourish in the field I’d set my sights on — not because they weren’t supportive, but because they didn’t want me to get rejected. That butterfly would be my reminder, the sign to “keep going” and “keep growing” during all the times I knew I would want to give up and the people who cared about me most would tell me to throw in the towel and “come home.”