Healing doesn’t always happen where we expect. For me, much of my healing didn’t start in a church building—it started in a tattoo shop. Wow. Never doubt where God can work, or the hands He can use. The tattoo artists helped me fix my body instead of destroy it.

Ironically, the tattoo shop itself was red. Red is a significant color in my life—it represents victory and the blood of Jesus. Wow. It felt like a sign. My first tattoo wasn’t just ink; it was a symbol of reclaiming my body, my words, and my identity.

It was on my wrist. And instead of slitting my wrist to escape the pain, I decorated it. The tattoo says “pretty girl.” After my rape, I didn’t feel pretty—but words have power. Writing those words on my body was my way of declaring the truth: I am worthy, I am loved, I am beautiful.

The tattoos gave me an immediate outward transformation, a visible mark of hope. The inward healing came later—but it came. This journey reminded me that God can work in any space, through anyone, and in ways that defy expectations.

Sometimes healing starts small, sometimes in red walls and inked skin, and sometimes it starts with a single word that restores everything.