I found a Black tattoo artist in a Black studio and went on my own to do the single most life-changing act of my late 20s. And oddly enough, what I felt during that first session wasn’t pain (it didn’t hurt that much) or regret (the experience was so affirming; I will never forget listening to old school R&B and feeling tender, careful hands trace lines of ink into the back of my calf). What I did feel was air. For the first time in a long time, I felt myself breathe…