The Year of Needles ✨

I didn’t touch on this in Wednesday’s post, but in that last year—when everything with my ex-husband was unraveling—I reached for transformation the way some people reach for scissors. Instead of a haircut, I booked a whole day at Splash of Color.

This was right before we moved up to Traverse City. He and I were fighting constantly, and I was desperate to feel some kind of control. So I chose pain I could at least choose—needles, piercings, ink.

By the end of it, I had three new piercings (industrial, tragus, daith) and four tattoos inked by an apprentice. It felt like shedding a skin, marking the hurt on my body so it couldn’t stay invisible.

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Ink and Regret 💀

The problem with apprentices? They’re practicing on you. My skin—looser from weight loss—wasn’t something he knew how to handle. Three of the four tattoos bled out, smeared like watercolor left in the rain. Now they’re on the chopping block: removal or cover-ups that cost more than the original work.

To make things worse, he froze when it came to my chest piece. He needed to rest on my boob to steady the lines, and I told him it was fine. I had a padded bra. I wanted it done right. But he was so embarrassed that the hesitation shows in the ink.

Lesson learned: magic written in ink should be trusted to the right hands. Cheap shortcuts don’t always come with happy endings.

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Reclaiming My Skin 🕯️

This isn’t where the story ends. Over the next year or two, Brandon at Splash of Color will be helping me reclaim my skin—covering, correcting, and carefully undoing what heartbreak rushed me into.

I’ve worked with incredible artists before: Perry and Jason, both of whom made me feel confident, comfortable, and seen in the chair. Their work is part of me forever in the best way. That’s the difference when you trust someone who respects both the art and the body it’s etched on.

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The Witchier Way 🔮

Here’s the truth—tattoos and piercings can feel like spells. They bind, protect, transform. But not all spells are meant to be cast in the middle of heartbreak. Sometimes, the simplest magic is the safest: scissors, dye, a bottle of bleach.

Hair grows back. Bad tattoos stick around like unwanted ghosts.

So if you’re fresh from heartbreak, take my advice:
Cut it. Dye it. Ruin it gloriously. Whatever you do—just make it your own. A haircut is cheaper than laser removal, and infinitely more forgiving.