It's a strong number...

A tattoo of the number 3 on an ankle

My first tattoo. My family growing up: Grandmother, Mother and me. 3 little pigs, 3 bears, 3 amigos. On the count of 3... 3.33 a.m. The devil's time apparently. When I was mocked by regret back into shameful sleep, or teased awake by my fears. I couldn't sleep on my own. 3 years I spent wearing black lycra to get a degree. A qualification in acting. Learning how to be someone other than myself.

"3 words I can never say to you," said my lover, while I was still married.

The Holy Trinity that I believed in, until I didn't. The months I spent in rehab. My introduction to recovery, unity, and service, a triangle of balance. But I’m temperamental and I don’t have much faith. I looked up the number 3: the creative child, spoiled, funny, jealous, and perpetually in need of guidance. But according to numerology I’m a 4: stable, trustworthy, productive and obedient.

Good things come in 3’s. And bad.

It’s a strong number.

written by beth