Creating Art When Your Body Is Falling Apart: A Personal Anecdote

In the last month alone, I’ve experienced a planned surgery, a mystery illness immediately after completing a major milestone in my career (yay to the Baltimore Tattoo Convention!), and then an unexpected emergency surgery that has swept me off my feet yet again. Safe to say, this kind of time off adds up in more ways than one.

Clients are disappointed. Bills stack up. Mental health tanks. Your image suffers. Your confidence suffers. Everything starts to feel like it’s hanging by a thread.

Honestly, even this blog has suffered because of the physical pain my body has been going through lately. So as I lay in bed trying to figure out how to pass the time between aches, medications, and healing wounds, I figured now is as good a time as any to talk about something people don’t really like talking about:

Being sick.

And more specifically, what it’s like trying to build a career while your body literally refuses to cooperate.

Unfortunately, this isn’t anything new for me or my shop. Ever since I entered this industry five years ago, there honestly hasn’t been more than a few months at a time where I haven’t come down with something. At this point, I’ve earned the nickname “The Victorian Child” of the shop, which is honestly both hilarious and painfully accurate.

First it was constant rounds of strep throat that eventually led to a tonsillectomy. Then a tooth issue that had me suffering for months. My ovary hemorrhaging. Flu after flu after covid after another flu. Random infections. Fevers. Exhaustion. Mystery symptoms. Surgeries. The list goes on..and on..and on…

At some point it all starts blending together. I genuinely couldn’t even tell you where it begins and ends anymore. But what is it like trying to build a career while constantly being sick?

Well, honestly. It’s embarrassing.

The average adult gets sick roughly two to four times a year. Meanwhile, I’d be lucky if I could keep it in the six-to-eight range. And in America, especially in industries like this one, there’s this unspoken expectation that you just push through it. We’re a society born and raised to work no matter what. Work tired. Work grieving. Work sick. Work burnt out. Work until your body forces you to stop. And tattooing is no exception. Actually, in a lot of ways, I think it’s worse.

The industry itself glorifies the hustle culture constantly. Long sessions, no days off, booking out for months. Travelling. Conventions. Drawing until 2 a.m. then waking up to tattoo all day like nothing happened. You’re praised for how much you can endure. But eventually, your body keeps the score.

One thing working in this industry has taught me, though, is perspective. When people come to get tattooed, they aren’t just showing up for a tattoo. I get the privilege of hearing about their lives, their jobs, their relationships, their stress, their families, their fears. You start realizing very quickly that everyone is carrying something outside of your own little bubble. And because of that, illness becomes more complicated than just “pushing through”.

What feels manageable for one person could be devastating to another. Coming into work with “just a cold” could be what your client takes home to their partner with a compromised immune system, or their newborn baby, or their parent who is undergoing chemotherapy. You just never know. The last time I got sick, I reached out to my clients feeling awful as usual about rescheduling. But one client responding thanking me because their husband had recently suffered a stroke and could not physically afford even what I considered a minor illness. Something that would inconvenience me for a week could potentially threaten someone else’s life. And hearing those things…well, they stick with me.

So under most circumstances, I don’t go to work sick. Even when the guilt eats me alive, even when I know I am losing money and scrambling on bills, even when I know I’m disappointing people. Because while I may be missing a paycheck, somebody else could lose something far more irreplaceable, and that will never affect me the way it would to them.

And then there’s the other side of tattooing that people don’t always think about: this job leaves very little room for error.

Tattooing demands precision. Permanence. Consistency. There really is no clocking in and having an “off day” when you’re permanently branding your artwork onto another human being for the rest of their life. The pressure that comes with that can be intense. Clients are trusting you with their bodies forever. They deserve your best. And when you’re sick, exhausted, medicated, weak, in pain, or mentally struggling because your body is failing you yet again, you know when you can’t give your best work.

I know when my hand isn’t steady enough, when my brain starts to feel too foggy. Your body physically cannot keep up with the level of performance this career demands. It’s heartbreaking, because I care. I care a lot. I care so much about the integrity of my work, about my client’s experiences. I care about doing tattoos I’m proud to attach my name to forever. I could never justify sacrificing the quality of my work for the convenience. But at the end of the day, that’s really what it boils down to, doesn’t it?

Rescheduling sucks when you know your clients already arranged their childcare, requested time off work, coordinated schedules months in advanced and waited patiently for something they’ve been so excited for. So when I have to hit send on that “I’m so sorry, but…” message, my heart breaks a little for the both of us. I know it can be frustration, and even more so because I know how it affects how people view me professional. Not just clients, either — bosses, too.

You become unreliable. Unpredictable. Risky.

Those labels can haunt you in a career this competitive.

Tattooing is an industry where there is always another artist just waiting to take your place. Another person grinding harder than you, willing to sacrifice more sleep than you, more health than you, more sanity just to stay one step ahead of you. You know — I know — at any moment, I could be replaced. And that fear can eat you alive when your body forces you to slow down.

But I’m not sharing any of this for pity. I’m sharing it because I think there are probably more artists struggling like this than we realize. I think a lot of us silently destroy ourselves trying to keep up with the pace this industry rewards. I think a lot of people outside of tattooing only see the finished tattoos, the social media posts, the “dream job” aesthetic, and not the physical toll underneath.

And despite all of this, I still love this career so deeply. I still want to grow, to improve, to become the artist I know I am capable of becoming. But lately I’ve had to ask myself the difficult question:

How can you be the best when you aren‘t even there?

And I think the answer that I keep coming back to is this:

Right now, the best I can do is the best version of myself I can be when I am able to show up. Not a version of me that destroys herself trying to prove something. Not a version running on fumes because she’s so terrified of disappointing everyone. Just the version that keeps getting back up every single time her body knocks her back down, and comes back to work the moment she gets the chance with a smile on her face ready to keep trying.

I’m incredibly grateful for my clients, my coworkers, my bosses, and the people around me who continue to support and understand my ever-changing world despite how messy it can become sometimes. At such a young age, navigating this level of health instability can feel incredibly isolating and honestly terrifying at times. But I’m trying to learn that slowing down doesn’t mean failure, and needing rest doesn’t erase my passion.

So for now, I will heal and continue to recover. And I will come back, and try again.

Hopefully, that‘s enough.