It's how I keep her close to me. When I see it, it reminds me of her.
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My Story
I got my semicolon after I lost her.
I wish there was some bigger explanation for it, but there really isn’t. I just needed something. Something I could see every day that reminded me she was here. That she was a real person and not just this horrible thing that happened.
For a while after she died, everything about her felt connected to losing her. People would ask how I was doing and I knew what they meant. They weren’t asking about work or what I did that weekend. They meant that. Everything somehow came back to it.
And I hated that.
Because she was funny. Like really funny. She could make me laugh when I was trying so hard to stay mad at her. She stole my clothes and never returned them. She sent me ridiculous texts at completely inappropriate times. There was so much more to her than the way she died.
I think that's what the semicolon became for me.
It’s how I keep her close to me. When I see it, it reminds me of her.
Not just what happened to her. Her.
Sometimes I’ll catch it when I’m driving or washing my hands or doing something completely normal and for a second it feels like she’s just part of my day again.
There are still days when it hurts really bad. There are also days where I can talk about her and laugh, and I don’t feel guilty about laughing anymore.
I don’t know if a tattoo can actually keep somebody close to you.
But this one does for me.
And I think she'd probably make fun of me for getting sentimental about it.
My Story
People assume my semicolon is about one moment, or one bad year, or one thing that happened to me.
It’s not.
It’s more like a collection of things. A lot of quiet battles. Some people saw parts of them, most people didn’t. That’s kind of how it goes. You learn how to still go to work, still answer texts, still laugh when you need to, and still be having a really hard time underneath all of that.
There were times in my life where getting through the day took way more effort than anybody around me knew. I got very good at looking fine. I think a lot of people do that.
So when I got the tattoo, it wasn’t really about making some big statement to everybody else. It’s my way of remembering battles I’ve won. It’s personal.
That’s the simplest way I know how to say it.
It reminds me of the version of me that kept going even when I was exhausted, even when I was overwhelmed, even when I was tired of fighting with my own mind. It reminds me that I’ve had days I honestly didn’t know how to carry, and somehow I carried them anyway.
Not gracefully, either. That’s the other thing.
I wasn’t out here inspiring people every day. Some days I was angry. Some days I shut down. Some days I handled things badly. Some days I disappeared a little. Growth looked messy most of the time, not beautiful.
But I made it through those versions of myself too.
That’s what the tattoo means to me. Not perfection. Not that everything is fixed. Not that life is suddenly easy.
Just that I’ve been through things that could’ve taken me out in one way or another, and they didn’t.
When I see it, I don’t just think about pain. I think about strength, but not the loud kind. The kind nobody claps for. The kind that happens in private. The kind where you wake up and do what you have to do and keep moving, even if you’re not sure you can.
That’s why it matters to me.
Because I remember who I had to be to get here.
My Story
I’ve got tattoos for people, places, things I’ve been into. Some of them have pretty serious stories behind them. Some of them I got because I was 22 and apparently thought every idea I had needed to be permanent.
The semicolon is different.
My tattoos all represent something I love, this one is just for me.
I went through a stretch where I was pretty fucked up mentally.
I didn’t tell many people that at the time.
I was still going to work. Still going out. Still doing normal stuff. If you knew me then, you probably wouldn’t have thought anything was wrong.
That was kind of the problem.
I could be having the worst day in the world and if somebody asked how I was doing, I’d say, “Good.”
Every time.
I’m sure that was incredibly helpful.
There were nights where my head would just not shut off. I’d replay everything. Things I screwed up. Things I should’ve done differently. Stuff that happened years ago that my brain apparently decided needed another meeting at two in the morning.
And then there were days where I didn’t really feel much of anything.
Those were probably worse.
I didn’t have some big moment where I decided I was going to change my life. I wish it worked like that. Mostly I just got tired of feeling like shit.
Eventually I talked to somebody.
Then I talked a little more.
I started being more honest when I was having a bad day instead of pretending I was just tired.
It helped.
Not immediately. Not every day.
But it helped.
I got the semicolon later.
Nobody came with me. I didn’t post some big explanation about it. I just went and got it.
People ask about it now and sometimes I tell them. Sometimes I don’t.
That’s probably why I like it.
Most of my tattoos remind me of somebody or something outside of myself.
This one reminds me that I made it through something.
And I know exactly what that means, even if nobody else does.
That’s enough.
My Story
I had no idea what a semicolon meant before my daughter told me.
I knew what it meant in a sentence. I’m not completely hopeless.
But this whole other meaning behind it? Not a clue.
She brought it up one day because I’d been having a rough time. I’d been retired for a little while, some health stuff had piled up, a couple people I cared about were gone, and I wasn’t handling any of it particularly well.
My solution was mostly to sit in my chair and tell everybody I was fine.
Very sophisticated system.
My daughter knew better.
She started coming around more. Calling more. Asking questions that were just annoying enough that I knew she wasn’t going to let me get away with changing the subject.
At some point she told me about the semicolon.
I remember thinking, “That’s it? A punctuation mark?”
Then she explained it to me.
I liked the idea more than I expected to.
It’s a nifty little helper that my daughter introduced me to.
That’s really what I call it.
A little helper.
Because I’ll see it on my wrist and it reminds me to do something besides sit there and stew in whatever is bothering me.
Call somebody.
Go outside.
Tell my wife I’m having a lousy day instead of snapping at her because the television is too loud.
That one took me a while.
I grew up in a time when men weren’t particularly encouraged to sit around discussing how we were feeling. You handled your business. You kept moving. If something hurt, you found something to do.
There are worse ways to live, I suppose.
But there are better ones too.
My daughter has taught me a lot about that.
I still don’t talk about everything. She’ll probably read this and say, “That is an understatement.”
But I talk more than I used to.
And when I’m getting myself wound up or disappearing into my own head, sometimes that little mark catches my eye.
It doesn’t fix anything.
It just reminds me that I have people.
And maybe I ought to let them be there.
Funny thing to learn from a semicolon at my age.
But there you have it.
Most people don’t show up knowing exactly what to say. They just know something feels off. Semicolon Helps is built to meet people there — with a simple first step that helps them share what they’re feeling, in their own words.
Project Semicolon is for anyone navigating life’s most difficult chapters. While we’re known for our work in mental health and suicide prevention, our mission extends far deeper—we exist for the struggles that often precede crisis moments. Whether you’re battling depression, anxiety, trauma, addiction, eating disorders, or any of the invisible battles that can threaten your wellbeing, Project Semicolon stands with you. We’re for the person questioning their next sentence, for those rebuilding after loss, and for anyone seeking hope. The semicolon belongs to no demographic—it’s a universal symbol for every person who’s ever wondered if they could continue their story.
Absolutely not. The semicolon tattoo was never meant to be exclusive—it belongs to anyone who finds meaning in its message. Whether you’ve participated in Project Semicolon or simply resonate with what the semicolon represents, you have every right to wear it. The symbol is an open invitation to anyone facing a moment where they questioned continuing. It’s a declaration that your story isn’t over, and a quiet reminder to yourself and others that hope persists, even in darkness.
No. While mental health is at the heart of the semicolon movement, the symbol has evolved to represent all forms of struggle and resilience. Pink semicolons honor those battling cancer. Rainbow semicolons celebrate LGBTQ+ communities finding their voice and their place. The semicolon has become a universal mark of perseverance—a way to say “I’m still here” regardless of the battle. Whatever your story, there’s a semicolon that speaks to your journey.
Project Semicolon doesn’t provide direct crisis intervention. If you or someone you know is in immediate danger, please reach out now:
We’re here for your long-term journey. In moments of acute crisis, these services are equipped to help right now.
No. There’s no “official” placement for the semicolon tattoo. Some choose visible placements as daily reminders or conversation starters. Others prefer more private locations as personal affirmations. The placement is entirely yours—wear your semicolon wherever feels most meaningful to you. What matters isn’t where the semicolon sits on your body, but what it represents in your heart.
Project Semicolon’s mission grows through people like you. There are three meaningful ways to get involved:
Every contribution—big or small—helps us write a stronger ending to someone’s story.
