When Service Becomes Personal

Lately, my back injury has forced me to slow down in ways I didn’t plan for. Tattooing and drawing — the things I usually lean on to steady myself — have been harder to practice consistently. Some days, even sitting at the table feels like work.

This morning, one of my daughters sent me a message about the Honor and Ink website needing to be ADA and WCAG compliant. On the surface, it was a practical note — something technical, something to fix. But it landed heavier than that.

It made me stop and ask a harder question: who am I really trying to serve with Honor and Ink — and am I doing that as well as I think I am?

There’s an irony here I can’t ignore. I’m now considered disabled, at least by definition. And until recently, I hadn’t fully considered how many of the wounded warriors I want to honor and serve may also need accommodations — not just physically, but digitally, logistically, and with dignity.

Accessibility isn’t charity.

It’s not a favor.

It’s respect.

If Honor and Ink is about honoring service, sacrifice, and perseverance, then accessibility isn’t optional — it’s foundational. A website that unintentionally shuts people out contradicts everything this project stands for.

I didn’t come to this realization from a rulebook. I came to it from frustration, limitation, and the uncomfortable awareness that independence can be taken away faster than we expect.

Today’s post doesn’t come with a drawing. It doesn’t come with finished work. What it comes with is intention.

As part of Tattooing 101’s January daily post challenge, I’ve committed to showing up consistently this month — refining my tattooing skills, rebuilding rhythm, and sharing the process openly. Not from a place of perfection, but from a place of honesty. If you’re interested in my work, you’re welcome to follow along as I do the quiet, unglamorous work of getting better.

Honor and Ink has never been about flash.

It’s about showing up — even when it’s uncomfortable — and making sure the door is open for those who’ve already carried more than their share.

This experience reminded me that service starts with listening — especially when the lesson comes from closer to home than we expected.

Honor isn’t just what we create — it’s who we refuse to leave behind.