When you write the thing you need to read, or my heart tattoo essay at HelloGiggles

You may have read my essay "Wearing My Tattooed Heart on My Sleeve" in my ebook Sex & Cupcakes, but whether you have or not, I have a new essay, "My heart tattoo is my romantic compass," up at HelloGiggles. The first essay is more about the backstory of my tattoo, while this one is about what it's taught me since I've gotten it.


I believe this was taken right after getting inked at Sanctuary Tattoo in Portland, Maine

What amazes me is that I wrote this a few weeks ago and it went up today, a day when I've been facing some major questions about whether to follow my heart or do what's "practical." As I get closer to 40, I've been trying very hard to turn my life around from my previously wasteful, impulsive ways and be more of an adult, as befitting someone almost in their forties. But sometimes what stand between you and the only thing you think you need to complete your life is, in many ways, impractical. So I've been wrestling with that today, and when I saw this went up, I had my answer. I'm gonna follow my heart, even if it disrupts a few things along the way. Because otherwise it's just some random letters on my arm, right?

Open bar tonight 6-7 for my Sex & Cupcakes book party in NYC!

Tonight's the night! Yes, it's dreary as can be outside but inside Sweet Revenge at 62 Carmine Street, NYC (subway to West 4th Street) at my Sex & Cupcakes book party tonight from 6-8 (open bar 6-7) it will be sweet and cozy and sexy and fun. Can't make it? Let a friend know! Here's the Facebook invite. Sweet Revenge owner Marlo Scott had this to say. I have to say a giant thank you to Thought Catalog Books for sponsoring this.

Here's me there on Saturday enjoying their ridiculously delicious brunch (if you go, while my burrito bowl was delicious, with wonderful hot sauce, do get the red velvet waffles):



Want to know more about the book? My awesome publisher Thought Catalog Books asked me lots of questions, like whether I write better erotica when my sex life is booming and what I'd tell my future 9-year-old child about sex.



My friend Stacie Joy took this photo below of me on Saturday, and I adore it so much. If you've read Sex & Cupcakes, you know that the book is as much about love as sex, about falling hard and getting my heart broken and falling in love again. While my boyfriend is incredible and amazing and designed this postcard and doesn't mind that I wrote about him in essays like "My Boyfriend's Fat" and "Monogamishmash," it's not one of those happily ever after my-life-is-awesome-cause-I'm-not-single books. My life is awesome because I went through a lot of hard times and tried a lot of things, I dropped out of law school and stumbled my way into an erotica job and a sex column, I went all out, I let my heart lead the way, and still do. If you want to know more about that, this book is my most personal writing ever, and the thing I'm proudest of this year. You can get it for Kindle or iBooks, and if you don't have a Kindle, not to worry; you can read it on your phone, laptop, tablet, etc. Click here for details on that. Thank you for reading and responding; it's still scary, 15 years later, to open myself up in the way I do in this book, but I do it because that's how I'm made, and because I hope it reaches someone with a message that's useful in their lives, somehow.

Hello Kitty tombstone, Tera Patrick's Hello Kitty tattoo and more from Hello Kitty Con

Yes, I went to Hello Kitty Con, and wrote it up for Thought Catalog, who are the awesome publishers of my book Sex & Cupcakes: A Juicy Collection of Essays and sponsors of my open bar (from 6-7), free cupcake (first 2 dozen are free, so there's some incentive to arrive early!) book party November 17th at Sweet Revenge, 62 Carmine Street, NYC! Party is 6-8, but there's good reason to arrive early. Lots more photos in the article. Even if you can't make the party, if you know anyone in New York who likes sex, cupcakes, drinks and fun, please let them know. I don't know if/when I'll have another book party and am honored that both Thought Catalog and Sweet Revenge were generous enough to throw it for me.

Porn star Tera Patrick wore a Hello Kitty dress and has a Hello Kitty tattoo on the back of her neck:



This was one of my favorite pieces of art, by Yarns & Noble:



And my piece closes, as you'll see, with the big question of whether to go all out Hello Kitty when I die. I'm turning 39 tomorrow so hope that's not anytime soon, and really hope, more than anything in the world, that I get to use Hello Kitty diapers and bottles and all that jazz before my next birthday (the tombstone was in a "Hello Kitty life cycle" display):

My heart tattoo, almost three years later

I got this tattoo almost three years ago, in November 2011, two months before the fateful first date that brought me to my current boyfriend.



I tell the story behind the tattoo in my Thought Catalog Books ebook Sex & Cupcakes in the essay "Wearing My Tattooed Heart On My Sleeve," the bulk of which I wrote soon afterward. Here's a snippet:

I don't hate my heart for failing me, for leading me down so many dead ends, for being too impulsive when she should be cautious, patient, watchful. Well, that's not entirely true; today, while I'm in a good mood, I don't blame my heart. I can forgive her her fanciful whims, her childlike earnestness, her belief that next time will be better. I've spent so long hating my heart's lack of reason, wanting to slice her up, banish her back to a simple biological role and let my head make the big decisions, but I can't. That's not who I am, not deep down, and now, not on the surface either.

That too was rejected from Modern Love in The New York Times (I can be stubborn and persistent, but I've given up on that hallowed section for now), but was a major turning point for me. I didn't know who I was looking for exactly, when I sat in that chair, I just knew I was going about love the wrong way. I knew it wasn't supposed to be something where you gave 100% and never felt secure. I knew it was supposed to improve my life, not make me feel so off balance and uncertain.

I started 2012 adamantly not looking for love, or at least, that kind of love. I want to fix my stumbling career, I wanted to explore. I booked a trip to Hawaii for a week by myself, on my piddling budget, using frequent flyer miles and a very cheap AirBNB rental, amazed that I, who was struggling on the personal and professional fronts, could do that. But that first date happened just before my trip, so I wound up in a romantic, beautiful setting alone, but not single. There's been so much that's happened since then, paths that my wayward and sometimes impulsive heart has led me, that I didn't know were possible. This weekend we went to a wedding and as we were sitting at the bar talking to a fellow friend of the bride, she said, "How long have you two been married?" I immediately said, "Oh, we're not married," because it just seemed like such a foreign thing to say, and yet it wasn't, not really. That happened once in our first year of dating, checking into a hotel for a staycation, and I laughed about it. Then I wasn't sure exactly where our relationship was heading.

This weekend, hearing it felt like a compliment. My thoughts on marriage have changed and grown as I've learned from those around me, though I still think its benefits are too often wielded like an evil weapon that can boomerang back to hurt people whose only crime is love, but that's another story. I used to tease my cousins that they were an "old married couple" and now I've become part of one. We each have seats on the couch, we have little rituals and nicknames not just for us but for aspects of our house. We say hi to the squirrels and groundhogs and occasional cat that wander into our backyard. I'm sad I won't get to give out Halloween candy to the umpteen little kids in our neighborhood. When I sat down at Sanctuary Tattoo in Portland, Maine, I wanted that physical pain to take away my emotional pain. I wanted to give myself a way of reclaiming my heart and not trying to shut it off. But I wasn't sure at all what that would look like.

The farther I get from that moment, the more I realize how clueless I was. This, the real life everyday silly mixed with serious, opposites attracting kind of love, wasn't something I could plan for. It sometimes still stops me in my tracks. My life is very different from what it was that day I sat down in the chair. My routine is different, my location is different, my work is different and my job is different. I joke sometimes that I write so much about my boyfriend because most days he's the only one I see or talk to. Except when I'm in New York or traveling, I'm not usually meeting up with friends. It's a quieter life, a homey, cozy one. And I love all those little things, that together add up to something far greater than the sum of its parts. My heart isn't immune to getting hurt, to emotional ups and downs, but I also know I can weather them better than I knew in 2011. I'm more sure of myself, more certain that the kind of unconditional love I was looking for actually exists, no matter what flaws or obstacles or issues I have.

I joke when I visit that Portland, Maine is my home away from home, and it feels that way. I feel very me when I'm there. I feel welcomed and peaceful, and who knows? Maybe someday it will be my actual home. I like carrying a little bit of it around with me, where everyone can see it.

Liked this post? Check out my new essay collection ebook Sex & Cupcakes, available now on Kindle for just $4.99.

My essay collection Sex and Cupcakes will be out next week!

I'll post the cover as soon as I get it, but I wanted to tell you that my first book written all by me, my ebook essay collection Sex and Cupcakes, will be published by Thought Catalog Books next week and I'm on the cover! I'm bursting with excitement to share it with you. I'll come back to this post to share the cover and buying links very soon but I really hope you'll spread the word; this is a big deal for me, both because it's mine mine mine, and because the royalty payments are higher.

Here's a sentence from the tattoo essay I especially loved: "The skin where the pink word lives is raised and itchy, a constant reminder of what I've done to it, what I'm asking it to do for me. My tattoo heart is on its way to healing, just like my real heart is."

Here's what's in it, a mix of older and brand new essays all about sex, cupcakes, politics, dating, tattoos, love, body image, monogamy, a career in sexuality, technology and more:

Sex and Cupcakes by Rachel Kramer Bussel
Introduction: Writing What You Know When You Write About Sex

I Have Trouble With Orgasms
I’m Pro-Choice and I Fuck
What Kind of Submissive Are You?
Wearing My Tattooed Heart On My Sleeve
My Boyfriend’s Fat
I Don’t Want or Need an App to Measure My Sex Life
Sex and Cupcakes
Champagne Sex
Monogamishmash

A year later my heart tattoo essay still suits me to a T

My heart is a lot stronger than it was when I wrote this essay a year ago. I'd forgotten about it because I'd submitted it to xoJane and never heard back, and as often happens with me, I simply let things go and assume they suck if I don't hear back from an editor and don't try to shop them around. Freelancing can be kindof like dating, and if you let someone else's rejection of you form your sense of self-worth, you're in for a very hard road. So I will let this speak for itself, without giving in to my temptation to go in and tinker with it, posting it here flaws and craziness and all. My heart it still very much like a little girl, as am I, but 37 is so much better than the start of 36 was, and I hope 36's worst, most heartwrenching moments stay where they belong. I still look at my tattoo every day, and I'm still incredibly grateful for all the luck and opportunity and love that's come my way this year. Now I just have to keep being worthy of it. Today I'm thinking about that phrase home is where the heart is, and also its converse. I decided to skip New York this week, after our lovely getaway in New Haven this weekend, and stay at my future home, with my guy, where we tease each other and play on the Wii and cook together and are silly and stubborn and still getting to know each other. My heart, and I, still have a lot of growing up to do. A lifetime, really. Never would I have imagined what the year after my tattoo would bring, because how could I? And maybe that's the real lesson.

I end this essay with a quote from Gabrielle Bernstein, and I'm now reading her new book, May Cause Miracles, because I want to be like her, be someone who believes in and creates miracles. She nails me, or the old me, to a T when she writes: "Special love is based on dependency and lack. The ego convinces us that we're alone, which leads us to desperately seek completion in others. The experience of lack grows out of our profound sense of separation from our real spiritual identity. Believing this state of lack to be our reality, we seek special relationships to help us feel whole." I got the tattoo in part to make me feel whole. I sat in that chair in that city in that state and I cried for so many reasons and yes, it fucking hurt. My skin, my heart. But I got through it, and I think it made me stronger. I figured out that I don't need anyone else, certainly not anyone I thought I needed. I figured out a lot of things, including that I'm still the same raw, stubborn, impulsive, wistful girl I was. Even though my boyfriend does add happiness to my life, a hell of a lot of it, I never want to see love as anything other than what comes from inside me. I spent far too long feeling so lost because I thought I didn't matter, and only when I finally believed that I did did the person I'm with now step into my life. Even then, on our second date I had to tell him something that made me feel like my life was utterly out of control, because it was. That was this wakeup call moment where I realized I was either going to let myself spin completely out of control or pick up the pieces and only focus on the things I can control, to truly live the Serenity Prayer, rather than just aspire to. I'm glad I had all those rock bottom moments this past year, because they taught me exactly the lessons they were supposed to. They told me what and who to value, taught me that I have so much more power than I think I do in my lowest moments. And every day I try to remember that. Sometimes I fail. Sometimes I don't get what I want. Sometimes I don't even know what I want. But as Gabrielle Bernstein writes, "...living with an open heart and embracing love as our true purpose is essential to living a miraculous life." And no, she's not talking about any kind of fake, Hollywood-ized version of romantic love, or the idea of some knight in shining armor to save you love. She's talking about the real thing. I'm so glad I have the wisdom to know the difference.



Last year, I deliberately chose to get my first tattoo, the word "open" in purple cursive script, on a part of my body I wouldn't be confronted with every day: my back. I can easily see it if I'm naked and look in the mirror, but most days I'm too busy going about my routine to focus on those four purple letters. I know they're there, and right after I got the tattoo last year, I used to reach behind me and touch them, letting their spirit press its way into my fingers.

Which brings me to my brand new tattoo. After the first one, I was pretty sure I wouldn't get another. I didn't want to be the cliché of someone who "just can't stop getting tattoos," which many friends told I would become. "It's addictive," they said, and since I have an addictive personality, I resisted. I'm the type of person who, if you tell me that I'm going to or should do something, I immediately want to prove you wrong and not do the thing in question, because I'm stubborn and contrary like that. More so, I don't want to feel like what I'm doing is somehow preordained, conformist, not thought out.

But the longer I've lived with my "open" tattoo, the more I've realized that the job I wanted it to do—to open my heart and mind—wasn't happening in part because, like everything good for us that we want to forget about because it's annoying or inconvenient or frustrating or slow or difficult, I was tuning out my tattoo. I liked the idea of being marked "open" but in reality, when anything went awry in my life, I shrank bank into the same old negative thought patterns; I had trouble adapting to change, whether a breakup or a layoff. When things fell apart for the last time with the man I was crushed out on, to put it mildly, instead of trying to make my peace with that, I went into jealousy mode. His wife (it's an open relationship) suddenly embodied everything I'm not, and never will be. In my head she was not just younger, but smarter, prettier, thinner, more successful. Yes, talk about another cliché—the jealous woman—but that was me, and, if I'm honest, still is me on some days. I couldn't figure out how to acknowledge that jealousy without letting it overwhelm me. I interpreted "open" as being allowed to revel in any and all emotions that passed through me, as if they were all equal and thereby deserving of my attention and devotion.

The hard part of being truly open isn't recognizing my contradictory and often unhelpful feelings, but using my vision for the kind of life I want to sort through them and only tap into the ones that are healthy and furthering me on my path. I found that instead of trusting my heart, I was starting to berate myself for making foolish relationship mistakes. Every setback seemed like a blaring sign that there was something deeply wrong with me I'd never be able to fix (public service announcement: don't ever tell someone during a breakup talk that they "deserve" better, that's basically an extremely twisted passive aggressive version of "fuck you"). I let myself return to dating people who'd already told me explicitly they didn't want the same things I want. I was stuck and, well, a tattoo seemed like a start on the path toward getting unstuck.

So, "heart." I wanted this word bold and bright and in my face, because I tend to scorn my heart more often than I should. I blame following my heart any time doing so doesn't lead to mad passionate long-term romance. But closing off my heart can't be the answer; I don't want to freeze out my heart to the point that I don't have room to welcome love—not just romantic—of all kinds into my life. A lot of my heart's travails have related to dating, but I also want to use my heart to be a better daughter, granddaughter, cousin, friend. I don't want to get so mired in my own head and problems that I can't use my empathy and compassion when I need to, while also taking care of myself.

Once I decided to get the tattoo, I did a little Googling and found Sanctuary Tattoo in Portland, Maine, where I was taking a birthday vacation, and chose them mainly because I liked the look of their website. I may agonize over what to order off a menu, but with bigger decisions, I usually make them more quickly. I made an appointment, sending a photo of my other tattoo and explaining what I wanted, and then I didn't let myself think too much more about it, lest I second-guess myself.

The design Ryan had picked out was taller than I'd expected, curving over my inner arm, its swirls visible when my arm is facedown. That was a surprise, but I liked it; I knew I wasn't just making the transition into a person with multiple tattoos, but into someone with a publicly visible tattoo. It hurt, a lot, more than I remember my other one hurting, but what made me cry—not huge wracking sobs, but a few good tears—wasn't the physical pain. It was thinking about the fact that there is still a part of me that wants to impress that same person I spent a long time infatuated with, who taught me so much, good and bad, about what it means to love someone. There will probably always be a part of me that wants his respect, and I couldn't help wondering what he'd think about my tattoo. I let myself go with it, feeling the pain on both levels. When the scraping of my skin with the tattoo needle seemed to much to bear, I reminded myself that it was the visceral equivalent of the times when I felt this extremely profound, painful ache of wanting the love and attention of someone who didn't have those things to give me. And less than an hour (and costing only $125!), it was over.

I described the tattoo before I got it as being an "anti-cynicism tattoo," and that still sounds pretty accurate. When I feel hurt, my first reaction is to retreat, to pull far back from anything and anyone who might ever hurt me again. The problem with that is that self-protection very quickly turns into a misguided sense of self-sufficiency and cutting myself off from the world. I start to think I should cocoon myself away until I'm somehow a better, smarter, prettier, more moral person—basically, until I'm perfect—rather than doing the only thing any of us can do: work through our issues, each and every day.

My heart is like a little girl, imperious, impulsive, and impossible. And while little girls are adorable, especially my friend's 2-year-old daughter who I love to pieces, my heart reminds me of the time I walked into my friend's bedroom and her daughter was tucked under the covers, looking like she was sick, but was instead just cozy and watching TV. She wanted me to leave so she just pointed to the door (a movement translated by her mom), while I tried not to laugh at being bossed around by someone so tiny. She's two, so she's entitled to do whatever she wants whenever she wants. My 36-year-old heart, though, not so much; it gets in trouble when it simply wanders down a path without considering any of the potential pitfalls.

Lest that sound too much like I'm just some girl who's not quite over a guy (which is accurate, in its way), I want "heart" to mean all the best things about me, and about life. At a time when 10-year-olds are committing suicide, elderly people are getting pepper sprayed, and a friend of a friend was randomly shot three times on his block, I know that my problems are quintessential White Girl Problems, but they are still very real to me. I want to wake up genuinely happy and grateful to greet each new day, rather than facing the morning with dread and fear of what it might bring. I want the tattoo to be a reminder that I shouldn't forget my heart, but I shouldn't be ruled by it either.

"Heart" in a way is a substitute for faith—faith in love, in other people, in the future, in myself. I've been reading Gabrielle Bernstein's excellent book Spirit Junkie, and she writes of the clash between fear and love, "We've saved our faith for fear. But deep inside each of us lives a soft voice reminding us that love is real." I believe her, but the loud self-hating voices in my head often run roughshod over the softer-spoken ones, so I hope my loud tattoo helps me keep that lesson real, and, most of all, keep me in touch with my heart, with all her wayward demands, demons, and desires.