“Did it hurt?” my 5-year-old daughter, Lily, inquired as I adorned my ears with sparkling purple earrings on New Year’s Eve. She had been eyeing those earrings for days, holding them as if they contained some secret to growing up that she was eager to uncover.
As she asked, she instinctively reached out to touch the piercing on my other ear, her expression a mix of curiosity and horror. I could tell she was grappling with the concept of a metal piece penetrating someone’s skin. Despite her tough exterior, she’s quite squeamish when it comes to anything that involves needles. Her older brother, Max, finds amusement in terrifying her with stories about needles and other dreadful scenarios, making every car ride a delightful experience for us all.
“It only hurt for a second,” I reassured her, yet she remained unconvinced.
Given her fear of needles, I often ponder whether she will ever opt to pierce her ears. I imagine that by the time she’s around 12 or 13, the allure of shiny earrings might outweigh her fears, and she’ll reluctantly enter the piercing studio, probably with the same trepidation as going to the gallows. I’ll need to insist they pierce both ears simultaneously, as I can easily envision her panicking after the first one, similar to what her cousin went through. I foresee this being an adventure for all of us, and perhaps it’s one that should be left to her dad to navigate.
It would have been a breeze to pierce her ears when she was a baby or toddler. It would have been quick, and she wouldn’t have remembered a thing, allowing me to sidestep the impending drama of a preteen girl and her phobia of needles. But I believe that doing so would take away something fundamental: her right to choose. Every girl should learn early on that her body belongs to her alone. I wouldn’t tattoo her, shave her head against her wishes, or pierce any other part of her body, so why would I pierce her ears?
I recognize that cultural practices can differ significantly, and in some cultures, ear-piercing holds particular significance. However, the act of modifying one’s body should perhaps be a journey of self-discovery, filled with fear and courage. It’s essential for her to remember confronting her fears rather than having a blank slate from her toddler years.
I vividly recall my own experience of getting my ears pierced at the age of 12. I was terrified, clinging to a worn-out stuffed bear that I felt too old to hold, yet it provided some comfort. The piercing gun’s noise and the sharp pain are etched in my memory, along with the gold stars I chose, the daily twisting of the earrings, and the sting of antibiotic cream. It was a choice I made for myself, and I was ready to endure the consequences.
I want my children to have similar experiences. I want to tell them, “This is your body, your choice, your pain. You own it.” It’s crucial for them to understand that their bodies are not extensions of mine; they are individuals with autonomy over what happens to them. The gift I wish to impart is the understanding of bodily autonomy rather than simply presenting them with shiny trinkets.
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Summary:
In this article, I discuss my decision to allow my children the autonomy to choose whether to pierce their ears. I reflect on my own experience with ear piercing and underscore the importance of bodily autonomy. By letting them make their own decisions, I aim to empower them to face their fears and own their choices.