GIG HARBOR—Bright lights illuminated the clean, white walls. Private rooms held padded treatment tables. In the hallways, green plants shared counter space with small baskets filled with lotions and moisturizers.
For 32-year-old Machela Sheckles, the calm, quiet atmosphere at Lissé Medical Aesthetics felt worlds away from the constant movement and sounds of prison life.
She’s one of three incarcerated women at the Washington Corrections Center for Women, WCCW, who are undergoing a series of tattoo removal treatments. It’s part of a pilot program between Lissé, the prison and the Department of Corrections, DOC. The program focuses on removing tattoos that are tied to trauma experiences.
Sheckles says the visit is more than just removing ink. It’s about erasing painful reminders of the past and reclaiming a sense of control over her body.
“When I started getting tattoos, it was never things I wanted,” Sheckles said. “None of them really had any meaning to me. It was just something I let people do because I just thought it was a good look or I was trying to please people. I just let them do whatever they wanted on me.”
A Need Without Clear Numbers
For justice-involved women like Sheckles, these tattoos are more than body art. They can carry the imprint of difficult experiences—sometimes marking gang ties or, in cases of human trafficking, serving as a form of branding used to signal control or ownership. Other tattoos come from years spent navigating unstable environments where acceptance, survival, and belonging can shape the choices people make about their bodies.
In addition to being daily reminders of their past, these tattoos can become barriers to finding work as justice-involved people reenter society. They are often located in highly visible areas such as the hands, face or neck—making them difficult to conceal.
Sheckles said many of her tattoos are trauma related. She said she fell in with the wrong crowd at a young age and spent time in what she describes as a “traphouse,” a slang term for an abandoned building where drugs are made and sold. She said she frequently got high, and poor judgment and low self-esteem led her to allow others to tattoo her body—many of them done “on the street” by drug addicts.
Sheckles’ experience reflects a broader reality—one that is not easily measured.
Understanding how prevalent trauma-related tattoos are—particularly among incarcerated women—is difficult, as limited research exists on the topic.
However, some estimates offer partial insight. A National Institutes of Health survey of organizations that serve human trafficking survivors found that about 47% of trafficked women have tattoos tied to their exploitation, though the survey didn’t specify whether any of those individuals were justice-involved.
Within Washington state prisons, data shows that as of Feb. 28, 2026, about 71% of individuals in DOC custody—9,935 people—entered with tattoos.
Some of those people were also flagged for factors such as gang affiliations, prior prostitution-related charges, or PREA designations—a federal classification related to sexual abuse in correctional settings that can include people who have experienced sexual abuse or have related convictions.
While there may be some overlap, these factors don’t tell the full story. Not all tattoos are tied to trauma, and having one or more of those indicators doesn’t necessarily mean a tattoo is trauma-related. The clearest insight comes from individuals themselves. But even then, experiences may go unreported if someone chooses not to disclose them.
What is clear is the level of interest at WCCW. Since the pilot’s launch, 62 women have submitted letters asking to have tattoos removed, according to WCCW Associate Superintendent Kari Figueira.
“I’m proud to work for an agency that supports programs like this through the Washington Way,” Figueira said. “Providing opportunities to remove trauma connected tattoos helps move individuals forward—supporting healing, restoring dignity and preparing them for reentry. We’re already seeing how meaningful this is for the women who have participated. I’m grateful for Lissé for partnering with us to offer a service that would otherwise be inaccessible. Their work is making a real difference.”
A Partnership Begins
The idea for the pilot came from a Lissé master aesthetician, who attended a conference where a presenter described a similar tattoo removal partnership serving justice-involved women in another state. Katrina Flowers-Piercy, Lissé Medical Aesthetics owner and board-certified physician assistant, with Figueira in 2025. Together, the partners launched the pilot in October of that year.
Flowers-Piercy added that during annual employee evaluations, she asks her team about personal goals and ways their business can make a positive impact.
“It’s really important for me as a business owner and for my team to give back to the community,” Flowers-Piercy said. “They’ve been really passionate about getting this pilot program started.”
For now, the incarcerated women are transported to Lissé for treatments before regular business hours. Lissé is providing treatments free of charge, while transportation and supervision costs are managed within DOC’s Washington Way initiative by the WCCW Mobile Activity Team.
Eventually, Lissé hopes to place a tattoo removal machine inside the prison. There’s currently no allotment in DOC budgets for it, and Lissé is exploring grants and fundraising options.
Flowers-Piercy and her team also envision creating an aesthetician course inside the prison so incarcerated people can gain training and practical experience toward obtaining aesthetician licenses. It would potentially allow them to perform the tattoo removal treatments inside the facility and leave prison with job-ready skills.
The Process of Removing a Tattoo
The process of removing a tattoo can be complicated, depending on its size and the type of ink used, according to Flowers-Piercy.
It involves a device that uses photoacoustic laser technology. The device emits ultra-short, high-density pulses of light that create a rapid acoustic shock wave. When directed onto the skin, it shatters the tattoo ink into tiny, sand-like particles. The body’s lymphatic system processes the particles and excretes them naturally through waste.
Most tattoo removals require six to 12 sessions, according to Flowers-Piercy. Patients apply a numbing cream to the area getting treated about an hour before each session begins. Most treatment sessions are 20 minutes or less, but the full process takes time. Patients must wait four to eight weeks between treatments to allow scarring to heal.
A New Beginning
Sheckles has done a couple of treatment sessions so far. She said one of the tattoos she’s having removed took about 90 minutes to apply from start to finish, but she says Lissé estimates it’ll take around seven more treatment sessions to remove completely.
Though it’ll likely take the better part of a year to remove her tattoos, she says the wait will be worth it.
Now sober, she’s taking cosmetology classes at WCCW and is looking forward to work release and regaining custody of her 7-year-old son. She hopes to work at a salon. Maybe even own one someday.
She says being part of the pilot program has made her feel like a new person.
“It feels like anything’s possible,” Sheckles said. “Like I can finally have a choice of what I want to do with my body. I can make my own choices and be a better role model for my son and show him that just because you make a mistake, doesn’t mean it can’t be fixed.”
