Healer, Heal Thyself

When I think about being disengaged from one’s body and one’s life being consumed by work with little enjoyment, my study and work as a massage therapist springs to mind, as it reverses both these ideas. Massage therapy is about engaging with another’s body to promote healing; I derive deep enjoyment from this highly rewarding work. I believe that an elevated, or holy, connection between two individuals is at its core. Being that work is a major part of our lives, it is important to seek out the work that is most meaningful to us, that enriches our lives and the lives of others. "To love life through labor is to be intimate with life's inmost secret."-Kahlil Gibran.

Below is an excerpt from a piece I wrote about my experience with massage therapy.

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At age twenty-three, I enrolled in the School of Healing Arts for massage, where I was immersed in the world of holistic therapies. I learned about what it means to heal the whole person, mind, body and spirit, as opposed to standard medicine, which compartmentalizes the body and the mind, often treating just diseases and not whole people.
Compassionate teachers introduced me to touch as medicine. I learned to quiet my mind by sitting still with my eyes open and listening for the farthest sound. I learned to give selflessly, lengthening muscles and creating space between tissues. An ounce of prevention is worth an infinite amount of cure. Deep breaths massage us from the inside.

The first spa I worked in was called SK Sanctuary, named for its owner, Stephen Krant. The name “sanctuary” couldn’t have been more apt; the place was beautiful with its chandeliers, salmon colored walls, roses, silver-framed Victorian paintings.
My favorite thing about SK Sanctuary was its monthly breast cancer night. The spa closed to the public, open only for breast cancer patients and survivors. They provided two free half hour services and a dynamic speaker on topics like therapeutic dance, singing, yoga for cancer patients, support groups, food, new cancer study developments. There were sometimes song or dance performances. These women’s bodies had been diseased, poked, prodded, radiated, chemotherapied, surgeried; they were in deep need of therapeutic touch.

One particular night, the topic was the therapeutic value of music making. The speakers passed out percussive instruments to all the staff and spa-robed attendees. There were bongos, xylophones, morrocas, drums of varying shapes and sizes. The women in charge led us in beating the instruments and raising our voices in unison. I joined the breast cancer survivors in singing, screaming, pounding. We hollered and laughed.
When it was over, I found my client by way of her nametag.
“Hi, I’m Amanda.” I smiled and shook her hand. She appeared to be in her mid-thirties, short dirty blonde hair, scraggily, growing back after chemo. Her handshake was both solid and soft.
“Lucy, “she said.
I walked her back to the dimly lit massage room, replete with carpeted floor and three-bulb chandelier. I had lit one tea candle and placed it in a purple glass, which sat comfortably on the marble counter next to the sink. Soft Sanskrit chants and the sound of bells echoed off the walls.
“How are you doing tonight, Lucy?”
“Oh great,” she said, “It’s so wonderful that you do this.”
“I’m glad you were able to make it! When was the last time you had a massage?”
She thought for a second, “Probably about a year ago.”
“Wow, well it’s time then. Are there any particular places causing you discomfort today?”
“Ughh, my whole body aches! I had a double mastectomy just a month ago, so I think I will need a pillow under my chest in order to lay flat. My neck and shoulders are especially tight. Really anything you could do would be welcome.” She said all this, not as a complaint, but in the way that we report mundane grievances to friends like, “Oh, the line at the bank was so long,” or “Can you believe it, Ben and Jerry’s was out of my favorite ice cream.”
She smiled at me. I smiled back.
“All right, well, I am going to focus on your neck, back and shoulders, then flip you over and we’ll do some neck work, then scalp and face. Sound good?”
“Oh yes, please, anything.”
“Well place your robe on that hook. Then go face down underneath the sheet and I’ll be right back.”
When I returned she said, “The table is so warm, I feel better already.” Standing at Lucy’s side, I placed my hands gently on her back over the sheet, one at the bottom of the lumbar spine, one at the top of the thoracic. While my palms rested there and warmed these spots, I asked her to take two deep full breaths, to send the breath to every cell of her body, helping her to become fully present in the room. Her back rose and fell under my hands. I breathed with her.
After three deep breaths, I peeled off my hands and walked to stand behind the top of her head. I pressed her shoulders gently away from her neck, then, with the heel of my hand began a series of focused compressions into the muscles from the shoulders down to the sacrum on either side of the spine. I pressed the sacrum gently away, creating length through her vertebrae.
I pulled the sheet down to her waist and tucked it under her hipbones, exposing her back. Coated my hands in the heated massage oil. Rubbed my palms together fast to create heat. Ran my hands from her shoulders to her waist, up the sides of her body back up her neck. I pulled with my fingertips at the occipital ridge, the crook where the neck meets the skull, creating length. Then I clasped my hands into fists around her hair and pulled lightly at the scalp. I repeated these warm up strokes four times, prepping the skin and muscles for deeper work.
Firmer pressure. Forearm strokes. Leaning into her muscles.
“Is this pressure okay?” I asked.
“Yes, thank you.”
Hooking the upper trapezius with my forearms and sustaining the pressure all down the back, slow and deep, I felt the muscles begin to quiver and release. She breathed. I breathed.
The muscles along her spine (erector spinae) were taut at first. I placed my left thumb over my right and sank into the muscle at the top of the back, allowing the muscle to accept me. Not forcing my way. Then it began to loosen, pulling me along its river down to the bottom of her back.
I placed a rolled up towel under the front of her shoulder so the scapula was elevated. Ironing the underside with my forearm, I reached my thumbs beneath the blade and moved slowly up and down, feeling the muscles snap, shift, pop beneath. Her inhalations and exhalations had become much more full as she fell deeper into relaxation. Reprieve.