Arrowhead Salon

💔 The End of an Era — and the Beginning of Everything Else 💔

I don’t even know how to start this post without crying, because there’s no easy way to say it.
After fifteen years behind the chair — fifteen years of building, breaking, healing, rebuilding, and becoming — Arrowhead Salon is officially closing its doors.

That sentence alone takes my breath away.
But this isn’t just a business closing. This is me closing a chapter of my own becoming.

When I started Arrowhead, I didn’t have much. I didn’t have family support, I didn’t have a safety net, I didn’t have a plan — but I had Nora.
My partner. My first assistant. My ride-or-die from day one.
She was there sweeping hair, folding towels, holding me together when I was falling apart, and cheering louder than anyone when the dream finally started to take shape. She believed in me when I couldn’t even believe in myself.

Together, we turned nothing into something.
We built a space that became home — not just for me, but for so many others.

You all became my family. My constants. My people.
And for that, I will never stop saying thank you.

Arrowhead has carried me through every version of myself — the eager stylist with shaky hands, the business owner learning through failure, the woman fighting silent battles while keeping up the brave face. It’s seen me raw, human, flawed, determined, and reborn.

I’ve made my fair share of mistakes — as a stylist, as a boss, as a person. Some of those mistakes hurt people I cared deeply about, and I’ve spent years trying to make amends, to grow, to be better. But the truth is, each scar became a stripe of strength.

And yes — there was a time I fell into addiction.
There’s no shame in saying that out loud anymore. Addiction doesn’t hold me; it refined me. It showed me everything that was broken and everything I still had the power to rebuild. Recovery gave me back my life — and it gave me clarity.

Arrowhead was where I healed. It was a refuge. A place where everyone was welcome — every race, every gender, every soul that needed to be seen. We built inclusion before we even had the language for it. I’ve done hair in houses, at weddings, in kitchens, bathtubs, hospitals — wherever love was needed, I went.

And now, life is asking for that same love to go somewhere new.

You’ve seen glimpses of my brother Joey through my posts. But what most people don’t know is how close we came to losing him. This summer, Joey died. For nearly thirty minutes, he was gone.
And then — somehow — he came back.

When he opened his eyes, he told me he met God.
He said our father was there, waiting.

“Son,” he said, “it’s not your time. You need to go back.”

Joey told me it was beautiful — peaceful — and that he didn’t want to leave.
But he came back. And I will spend the rest of my life making sure he knows what a miracle he is.

When something like that happens, you can’t unsee it. You can’t go back to life as it was.
It rearranges everything you thought mattered.

I was standing at our kitchen counter when it hit me — that quiet, spiritual whisper that only intuition can bring:

“You can’t choose both. You have to choose one.”

And in that moment, it felt like I jumped timelines — like I became this newer, braver version of myself who finally looked in the mirror and thought, I love her. She’s me now.

So here it is:
We will not be moving forward with the new Arrowhead Rising.
We will not be opening the new space.
Arrowhead Salon, as a business, is dissolving.

Because I am choosing my brother.
I am choosing family.
I am choosing peace.

Joey’s recovery requires 24/7 care — and I know, without a doubt, that this is where I’m meant to be. It’s not a loss; it’s a calling.

And Nora — she’s been there through every decision, every sleepless night, every tear. She supported the opening of Arrowhead, the growth, the rebuilds, and now, she’s standing right beside me as we close this chapter and prepare for what’s next. She’s been there for my brother, for our family, for me — and none of this, not one part of my journey, would exist without her love holding the foundation steady.

People keep asking if I’m sad, if I’m angry, if I feel robbed after building something so close to being reborn.
And the truth? I’ve felt everything. I’ve cried, I’ve questioned, I’ve grieved. But when I stand in that space and feel its heartbeat — the laughter, the chaos, the years of stories echoing in the walls — I know I’m making the right choice.

There’s peace in releasing something with love.

Arrowhead raised me. It humbled me. It healed me.
It gave me purpose, and it gave me people who became my chosen family.

This isn’t goodbye to hair — not by a long shot.
You can still catch me behind the chair at 474 Seneca Street for the rest of this year, working alongside Alyssa and Alanna, with visits from Jada as we close this chapter together. We’re all walking forward with faith, not knowing exactly what’s next, but trusting that the light will show the way.

If you need me — whether for hair or just to talk — my messenger, phone, and heart are open.

As Joey begins his next phase of recovery, I’ll be right there beside him — and somehow, through all of this, I feel the next version of myself forming too.
I don’t know what it will look like yet, but I know it’s sacred.💫

Thank you — every single one of you — for fifteen years of love, laughter, growth, forgiveness, and faith. You’ve been part of my becoming.

This isn’t the end.
It’s a rebirth.
🕯️
With gratitude, truth, and love,
Sandra Jean
P.S.
Stay tuned to see what we’re all up to next. We’ll still be at 474 for the time being as we navigate these transitions and the unknown paths ahead.

Jada will be visiting again soon, and Alanna and Alyssa are still behind the chair holding it down with their usual magic. If you need anything at all, please don’t hesitate to reach out — I’ll still be here full-time for the foreseeable future before shifting to more limited hours once my brother is discharged from rehab.

Thank you for the love, patience, and support through every season of change. ❤️