The Tattoos We Give Our Brains
You ever notice how some thoughts just stick? Like you’re minding your own business, making coffee, when suddenly your brain goes, “Remember that thing you messed up in 2009?” And you’re like—oh cool, thanks for that. John Maxwell once said, _“Once our minds are tattooed with negative thinking, our chances for long-term success diminish.”_And boy, did that one land.
Because honestly, negative thinking really is like a bad tattoo—except it’s not a dragon on your bicep, it’s a tiny whisper on repeat saying “you’re not good enough.”
The Ink That Doesn’t Fade
Here’s the thing about tattoos (the literal and mental kind): they last. You might fade them, you might cover them, but they don’t fully disappear. Negative thinking is sneaky like that—it seeps into your habits, your decisions, your self-talk. It’s like background static you forget is even there until you try to do something new and your brain mutters, “Yeah, but you’ll probably fail, so why bother?”
When I first started writing books, I used to think I wasn’t “real” enough to call myself an author. I told myself I was just “dabbling.” That word became my mental tattoo—“dabbler.” It showed up every time I sat down to write, whispering that what I was doing didn’t really matter. That tattoo didn’t come from one big event either—it built up slowly, inked in by every small doubt I didn’t bother to challenge.
Mental Graffiti and the Art of Rewriting
But here’s the wild part: you can’t really erase a tattoo, but you can draw over it. That’s the mental version of laser removal—repetition, kindness, and a bit of audacity.
I started doing this thing where I’d talk back to my brain. Not in a “needs medical attention” kind of way—more like a snarky roommate situation.
Brain: “This story’s not as good as other authors’ stuff.”
Me: “Maybe not yet, but it’s mine. Now hush.”
And weirdly, it works. I didn’t magically turn into Mr. Positivity, but those little counter-arguments started building new patterns—fresh ink over the old scars. Slowly, the old “I can’t” started to lose its punch.
The Tattoo Artists in Our Heads
A lot of those mental tattoos come from other people, too—teachers, parents, bosses, that one ex who thought sarcasm counted as personality. They say something once, maybe even jokingly, and your brain’s like, “Oh cool, permanent record.”
I had a high school teacher who told me, “You’re good at creative stuff, but you’ll never make a career out of it. You should focus on something useful.” I didn’t realize how deep that tattoo went until years later when I hesitated to publish my first novel. That one offhand remark had been quietly coloring every creative decision I made.
Sometimes I wonder how many of us are walking around wearing other people’s graffiti on our minds.
The Art of the Cover-Up
The real challenge is that negative thinking feels comfortable. It’s familiar. It gives us a weird sense of safety—because if you already expect to fail, you can’t be disappointed, right? But that’s the trick of it. It’s like staying in a room with bad lighting and then convincing yourself you look terrible in every mirror.
The first time you try to think differently, it feels awkward. You feel fake saying stuff like, “I’m capable,” or “I’m learning.” But every time you repeat it, you’re laying down new ink. Brighter colors. Better lines.
And eventually, the old tattoo—the one that says “failure” or “not enough”—starts to fade under something that actually looks like you.
A Few Mental Needles Worth Using
Here’s what’s helped me sandblast the worst of my mental graffiti:
- Catch the thought mid-sentence. When I hear myself thinking, “I can’t—” I literally stop and say, “Yet.” It’s such a small word, but it turns the sentence into possibility instead of a verdict.
- Act anyway. Confidence rarely shows up first. Action does. You can’t think your way into self-belief—you have to move into it.
- Make friends with failure. Failure is just practice with dramatic lighting.
- Find new artists. Hang out (virtually or otherwise) with people who see your potential, not your past mistakes.
So yeah…
If your mind is tattooed with negativity, it doesn’t mean you’re doomed—it just means you’ve got some touch-up work to do. And honestly, that’s kind of the fun part. You get to choose what you ink over it with.
I’ve been adding new tattoos lately: “persistent,” “curious,” “weirdly optimistic.” And even on the days I don’t fully believe them, I leave them there. Because belief, like art, starts rough and gets better with layers.
So maybe Maxwell was right—if we let those negative tattoos define us, success will always be out of reach. But if we pick up the metaphorical needle ourselves? We can start designing something new.
A murdered songbird. A haunted ballroom. A detective with secrets of his own.
When Evelyn Sinclair’s body is found backstage at the Savoy, everyone calls it an overdose. Everyone but Clara Beaumont.
She hires newcomer Lucien Knight, an English detective with a checkered past and a knack for finding trouble.
From Harlem’s jazz clubs to Manhattan’s shadowed alleys, Lucien hunts a killer—and faces the ghosts that followed him across the Atlantic.
You can check out the paperback version on my web store or get the ebook from Amazon..
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