The tattoo I hid… and why I stopped hiding altogether

I got my first tattoo when I was 30.

When I was younger, I was pretty wild and reckless. I had a few piercings — including a tongue ring, and my parents were furious! I didn’t care. It was the cool thing to do, even though I couldn’t eat for three days afterward. Not my smartest decision, but very on brand for who I was back then.

That first tattoo was on my ankle. A fairy. Nothing particularly deep or symbolic other than I love Faeries! So I picked it straight off the wall.

But here’s the part that still makes me smile.

The tattoo artist was also the owner of the shop in Hollywood and he happened to be my client at the bank. At the time, I was still married, working full-time in banking, and trying to balance this very buttoned-up professional life with who I actually was underneath.

A few years later, I helped him get a small business loan. Same person who tattooed my ankle was now sitting across from me in a bank office, trusting me with his livelihood. Life is funny like that.

He did a second tattoo for me too one on my shoulder and then I stopped. No more tattoos for years. Not because I didn’t want them, but because of where I worked.

Banking was conservative. Extremely conservative.

Women wore pantyhose. Nail polish colors were monitored. Hair had to be polished. There were rules for everything. Tattoos were absolutely frowned upon.

So I kept mine small. Hidden. Inconspicuous.

And looking back now, I realize how much of myself I was hiding, not just the tattoos.



Eight years ago, I left banking and genuinely believed I was done with it forever. I thought that chapter was closed. Life, of course, had other plans.

After my mom passed away from lung cancer, something in me shifted. Grief stripped everything down to the essentials. What mattered. What didn’t. What I could no longer pretend about.

That’s when I got the tattoo on my forearm.

A gladiola. My mom’s favorite flower. Gladiolas symbolize strength of character and integrity. Underneath it, I tattooed the words Only Love Is Real.

At the time, what carried me through that grief was the book A Return to Love by Marianne Williamson. The message stayed with me: in the end, when everything else falls away: titles, roles, money, pain...only love is real.

I never imagined that tattoo would ever be visible in a corporate banking office.

And yet, a year later, there I was. Back in corporate banking!

The first week was terrifying. Honestly, the first few weeks were. I wore blazers every day. Long sleeves. I covered my arms completely. I remembered the old rules. The judgment. The quiet scrutiny. After more than 30 years in banking, I knew exactly how those environments could feel.

And then one day, something snapped.

I thought: Fuck it. they hired me. They wanted me. This is who I am.

I’m a grown woman. I’ve been through hell and back. I’ve earned my seat at the table. And I’m done hiding.

So I wore a dress. Short sleeves. The tattoos were visible,  the one honoring my mother, and the small playful ones on my other arm too.

And guess what? Nothing bad happened.

That moment cracked something open for me.

Because it wasn’t really about tattoos.

Women hide all the time.

We mute ourselves. Tone ourselves down. Tuck away parts of who we are so we can be accepted, approved of, or tolerated.

And we do this with money even more than with appearance.

After my divorce, I hid a lot.

I hid my bad credit.
I hid the foreclosure.
I hid the bankruptcy I had to file. You know the one that stayed on my credit for ten years and haunted me?

That bankruptcy stopped me from buying a house. From getting a new car. From moving forward in ways I desperately wanted to. And instead of talking about it, I made excuses.

Why I didn’t have credit cards.
Why I was always tight on cash.
Why I couldn’t “just do” what everyone else seemed to manage so easily.

I didn’t understand then that credit cards — when used wisely — are tools for cash flow and opportunity. I only knew fear. Shame. Survival.

And the things we hide don’t disappear.

They linger. They wait. They show up later. Louder, heavier, more painful.

Imagine how much lighter life could feel if you stopped hiding.

Imagine how much love, clarity, and opportunity you could attract if you let yourself be seen — fully.

That question has stayed with me.

This is why I do the work I do now. Not because I’ve always done it perfectly, but because I haven’t. Because I’ve lived it. Because I’ve rebuilt from it.

It’s not just corporate experience.
It’s lived experience.
It’s mistakes.
It’s grief.
It’s choosing authenticity over fear.

If any part of this resonates with you — if you’re hiding something right now, especially around money?  know this…

You’re not alone.
And you don’t have to stay there.