Returning to my trees to let the leaves fall

Marking love and an acceptance of grief on my heart

My mother, me, and my son, Mother’s Day 2020

49 years old, and I’m scared to tell her about this. I’ve kept it a secret from her for months, wearing scarves in the spring, hiding myself under high neck tops, and making sure that it’s hidden in photographs. I’m 49, and I feel like I’m 16, sneaking around and telling the lies she thinks I can’t get away with. Just like when I was 16, I’m getting away with it. I always was better at deceit than she ever thought I was. 

I was proud of that when I was 16. It meant I got to sneak out of school and practice making babies when she thought I was a good girl. It meant she never knew about the detentions I got every week for not doing my physics homework either. She thought I was at Hayley’s, Hayley’s mother thought she was at my house. If either of them ever figured it out, they never said!

I’ve got good reasons to keep this secret, I think. She doesn’t really like any of my tattoos. She likes the pictures, but she always says, ‘I’d like it more if it was on your wall, not your arm’.

But she is used to the ones on my arm. I haven't hidden a single one of those. Quite the opposite… I take any opportunity to show them off I can find! 

This one is different. 

Smack in the middle of my chest. I think this might be a step too far for her to cope with. But It’s the only place I wanted it to be. The only place it could be. Close to my heart. Where it belongs.

Like all my other tattoos, this one has a story. It tells of something so very important to me, to who I am, I want to make a permanent tribute to it on my skin.

This tattoo, a colourful tree of life, is my tribute to her. To us. To my acceptance of what is to come. To my never-ending love and gratitude for her. To my heartbreak.

I had thought I’d keep it from her until the end. I didn’t think she needed to know that I’ve got a tattoo on my chest. Thought that might be too much for her to cope with.

And assuming she would be gone soon after I got it, I didn’t think hiding it would be hard. But it’s summer, and I can’t keep hiding it. And besides, I’ve started imagining the conversation with Dad, where I explain it to him after she’s gone, and he says ‘Oh, it’s a shame you didn’t tell her, she’d have loved that’. 

I don’t think I could have coped with that. And I hate that I’m keeping such a big secret from her. We’re friends now. I don’t have secrets from her. I tell her pretty much everything. Hiding stuff from her feels wrong.

So I’m going to tell her. I’ve been waiting till she’s awake and happy enough to be able to have a good conversation about it. A cup of tea, and a cake…. Sitting on the sofa after I’ve cleaned the house for her, and we’re enjoying some almost normal mother/daughter time. 

The tree of life is an ancient Celtic symbol. It represents the afterlife, the connection between heaven and earth. Now, I don’t believe in heaven, and I am certain she doesn’t as well, but I like this. The leaves of the tree of life fall, and life carries on, nourished by those leaves. I once gave her a plaque that said something about her and Dad being the roots from which we children grow. She is my roots, and my roots have been so nourished by her, even as her leaves fall.

The colours of the leaves match the colours of the leaves in the tattoo on my arm that represents me and my boys. Her leaves are also nourishing them. She taught me how to be their mother. She has given them so much over the years. We are forever connected, in life, in DNA, in memories, and in my ink.

The truck of the tree is made of a Celtic trinity knot. This represents earth, air and water, and may also symbolise birth, life and death. But I chose it because I read that it symbolises the connection between mother and daughter. I don’t think that’s right, but it’s part of the story of this tattoo. 

The words at the top were added after the rest of the tattoo was finished. But they really are the crowning piece of it. 

“Dewch yn ol at eich coed”. It’s a Welsh phrase that means ‘to return to the trees’. I heard it in a play I loved so much I saw it twice, called ‘Dance to the Bone’. The play was all about magic, trees, and healing rifts between the generations. Mothers and daughters particularly. So much of the script felt like it could have been written about us, and the challenges we have had learning to like each other over the years. 

In the play they also talked about the phrase meaning ‘to return to a state of balance and harmony’. That is how I feel about trees. About nature. And about her.

So adding the phrase to the tattoo seemed so obvious.

So she really does need to know. This tattoo is my love letter to her. My permanent reminder, right next to my heart, of my mother, and what she means to me. Even when her leaves have fallen, which will be soon, she will be forever with me. 

As we are drinking a cup of tea after I finish cleaning for her, I take a deep breath, knowing I am going to tell her.

“I want to show you the Christmas present Mel gave me”

And I pull down the top I am wearing to reveal the colour on my chest.

As I talk her through what it all means, and why I chose the symbols, the colours and the location, I see her eyes filling up, and a small smile appearing on her face. 

She takes my hand, and says ‘It’s beautiful. But I’d still rather it was on your wall’. 

And we hug. And in this moment, I know that she understands, and I am so glad I told her.

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I wrote this in 2023, as part of a book I was going to write about the tattoos that tell the stories of my life. I came to realise that much of what I was writing was, in fact, therapy for me, rather than the interesting I’d imagined, and stopped when it all got too painful. I am currently reading a book called “Return to My Trees”, by Matthew Yeomans, which I was given by a friend for my 50th birthday. I was prompted to share this today after seeing this piece from

Katherine May

in which she talks about leaving social media for a few days and returning to nature. This is what I have been doing as I move slowly and painfully through my own winter, and I am always grateful for the trees in my neighbourhood, in the books I read, on my chest and arm, and the family tree my parents made to help me get through this.

I will be writing lots more about recovery and the way that nature supports us to recover our true nature, and I’d love if you would join me on this journey!