Tattoos tell stories
They’re inked confessions, declarations, and symbols of the things that shape us. Some are meant to be seen -bold statements on forearms, necks, and calves. Others are more private, tucked away where only a few will ever glimpse them.
That’s the kind of tattoo I want to talk about today. The one that doesn’t scream for attention but instead reflects the quiet struggle of someone afraid to speak up.
The First Tattoo—And the One No One Sees
Most people who know me ,or who have watched my videos, have seen the tattoos I wear proudly. My wife Sami, my son Hank, my daughter Max. They’re out there for the world to see because they represent the three most important people in my life. But my first tattoo? That one’s different.
It’s up on my upper arm, a place mostly covered by sleeves. Not because it’s a bad tattoo -on the contrary, it’s a great one. A pencil sketch I carried around for years, drawn by a local artist in Kutztown, Pennsylvania, a guy named AJ. I don’t remember much about him, except that he was talented, eccentric, and, at one point, lived in a tent near the water tower.
The design itself is simple and ambiguous. Some people see a man shouting, his hands framing his face like a megaphone. Others see someone deep in prayer.
But me? I’ve always seen a man hiding.
A Reflection of Silence
I was drawn to that image because I understood it. The instinct to disappear. To fly under the radar. To make myself small and unnoticeable. That’s how I lived much of my life -staying quiet, avoiding confrontation, keeping my thoughts to myself even when I wanted to speak.
And I didn’t just relate to the image itself, I placed it where almost no one would ever see it. A hidden tattoo of a hidden person.
It was an unintentional metaphor, but looking back, it’s almost too perfect. A tattoo of a man trying to cover his face, inked onto a part of my body that would almost always be covered. I wasn’t just identifying with the image, I was living it.
The Journey to Speaking Up
Years later, I started to change. I started to find my voice. I started learning that my thoughts, my opinions, my presence -none of it needed to be hidden. And now, here I am, talking openly about the tattoo, about the years I spent trying not to be seen.
I wonder what that younger version of me would think about that. The guy who got a tattoo symbolizing his silence and placed it where no one would ever see it. Would he believe that one day, he’d be telling people all about it?
I like to think he’d be proud.
And maybe, just maybe, there’s someone else out there who feels like that tattoo. Someone who’s spent years hiding, afraid to speak up. If that’s you, I want you to know, your voice matters. And when you’re ready, the world is waiting to hear it.