It been thirty years, and I
still recall my first professional massage. It was an Indian Summer autumn and
my friend Pam and I had declared a “mother’s getaway weekend”. We felt
frivolous and guilty at the same time: leaving our husbands and children behind
(we both had one of each at the time), we postponed teaching prenatal classes, took
ourselves off-call as midwives, and set off for a personal retreat 2 whole
hours away.
The cabin we rented was more
rustic than it looked in the brochure, but it was luxuriously quiet and private,
near the California redwoods (California!), close to rivers and the ocean, and
not so far away from home that if there were a real emergency, it wouldn’t take
long to trek back to save the day. Of course, as midwives that is exactly what
we were relieving ourselves of, and what I was seeking when I inquired about
hiring a mobile massage therapist: to not
have to “save the day”, nor attend to others with full concentration and
presence; I was seeking respite from being alert and on call 24/7. Although we
were dedicated to our Calling and our families, we needed to escape temporarily
from dealing with the intensity of clients, husbands, students, and children-people
in transition who weren’t quite certain of where their center was (or where the
peanut butter was, for that matter); who were either constantly pulling at our
apron strings, tugging at our hearts or pocketbooks, or waking us up in the
middle of the night. We loved them all with a passion, but needed a break. And
so, we threw a few pre-made dinners and lunch supplies in the refrigerator,
posted the property manager’s number to call in case of emergency (it was the
days before cell phones!), put the petal-to-the-metal in Pam’s Volkswagen
Rabbit, and gleefully fled.
It is the way of the world
to be “Yang” as Chinese theory describes: to be light and fast, assertive, and strong
with power. Minds on alert, bodies prepared to be on the go at a moment’s
notice, we gear ourselves up for defense, catch up to the speed of life, pull
up our bootstraps, straighten our spine, and plunge on with multi-tasking (in
addition to being mothers and midwives, we taught classes, ran and attended
support groups, babysat other people’s children, and community service was
“very important.” Plus, I think we were on the verge of deciding whether to
start nursing school or not, were still under the age of 30 and 40, so
attending parties and running family gatherings were also a priority.) Like a
sentry preparing for potential battle, we often pulled a night shift, and our
sympathetic nervous systems were turned full-on most of the time. Going through
life and identity transitions of our own, our lives were full, maybe yours are,
too: joyful and stressful at the same time. We were in need of the aspects of
“Yin”: nourishing, slowing down, quiet, grounded, softness.
My Massage Therapist’s name
was Kristine. She arrived like an angel with sunlight filtering through wisps
of blond hair surrounding her Norwegian smile and long braid, massage table in
tow. After surveying our room, she set up her massage table, and eyeing my
friend, asked if I preferred more privacy. This was a cardinal question, one
that sets a Professional Massage Therapist apart from the hobbyist or scallywag:
protecting client confidentiality and modesty, providing a safe place in which
to experience massage and conduct the intake interview. I giggled, because
being midwives doing homebirths together, we had to have complete trust and
comfort with each other, or the tension played out in some way in the birthing
process; you get used to seeing and appreciating naked bodies in a non-sexual,
matter-of-fact sort of way. Plus, Pam and I had hot-tubbed together (it was
California, who didn’t do that?), supported
each other through a lot of heart-to-heart talks, had years of bearing witness
to each other’s growing pains under our belts, and had one of those rare friendships
based on radical acceptance. But, Kristine
didn’t know that, so, I informed her that I was perfectly comfortable with Pam
being present (I think she either fell asleep or went on a walk), answered a
few questions, and shed my clothes as she quickly turned her back while I slid
under the crisp, cool, inviting sheets. I was not yet 25 years old, yet the
uncertainty of life and the chaos and future of our society weighed heavily on
my shoulders, my back, and my mind. 
What I remember most is
that I got what I needed: a calm and loving presence, guiding me with confident
hands and a gentle voice, to a place of forgetting my troubles and releasing
the everyday tensions and responsibilities that were long-held in the backside
of my body. To help me get there, this
amazing Bodyworker started our session with me prone, and carefully undraped
the sheet on my back. As she applied a luxurious-feeling oil up-and-down along
my spinal muscles, she suggested something I will never forget, for it evoked a
vision in my mind’s eye so beautiful and relaxing that my back still unwinds
whenever I think about it, more than thirty years later.
With a hand-over-hand
effleurage technique-you know, the kind that ripples over your taut muscle
bellies? She gently said, “Perhaps it would be helpful as you breathe in and
out, to imagine a clean white sheet on the clothesline outside in the sunshine…let
yourself feel my hands on your back, and imagine
that you are the sheet, and I am the wind.” It was so beautiful to imagine
a firm rhythmic wind working over the waves of my tense back muscles and
shoulders, gently ironing out the creases, in the warm and healing sunshine.
Thank you, thank you, thank you…
The rest of our weekend was
full of wild and wonderful adventures walking through a local crafts faire in
the midst of giant redwoods (I admired a fabulous weaving that turned out to be
made by Kristine), jammin’ at a local pub with a Reggae band (hey, it was a
Hospice Benefit and I’d always wanted to hear my friend sing on stage! It was a
very small town); we traipsed over sand dunes and sat on the beach, quietly
listening and watching the ocean waves, appreciating All-That-Is. When we left,
it was bittersweet: we said goodbye to our little wooden shack; our retreat was
over and we were revived. The ride back would provide the transition time and
conversation needed to process our experience, we were ready for the joyful
noise and hugging arms of our families; but I sure would miss that massage
table!
Pam and I completed nursing
school together, but neither one of us became Certified Nurse Midwives as we’d
anticipated. Sometimes life has a funny way of taking its own turns, leading you
on a completely new journey you never dreamed of. We did have the privilege of
attending each others’ subsequent pregnancy and births, though, and both of us
have spent many hours offering our hearts, hands, and presence, in a healing
capacity for others. Surprisingly (to me), I became a Licensed Massage
Therapist and Bodyworker, years later, and thousands of miles away. Recently,
as I mindfully undraped my client’s back and began to apply a luxurious oil, I
gently suggested “Perhaps it would be helpful as you breathe in and out, to
imagine a clean white sheet on the clothesline outdoors in the sunshine…let
yourself feel my hands on your back, and imagine that you are the sheet, and I
am the wind.”
