Massage is scary. There, I said it. I should know: When I went into massage school, I was terrified of the touching, the vulnerability, the possible nudity, the drum circles, the… man, how did I make it? Anyway, I stuck with it for one reason: Massage is awesome.
Let me tell you about my first massage. I was 19, and I was sick and tired of my back betraying me for seemingly no reason (I know the reasons now, and they were legion). I had been to physical therapy (helped some), and now I was giving chiropractic a shot. It was… okay. Lots of back cracking, but I mostly liked the machine that loosened my back up beforehand.
One day, the chiro asked me if I’d like to add on a massage. I said yes, and I was directed to a little room where a nice man greeted me. He asked me a few questions, and then… it hit me. I was about to let a stranger touch me, no, massage me, while I lie there in my jean shorts. Wait, was I allowed to keep my shorts on? How was I supposed to lie? Was I supposed to let him know when I was ready, or would he knock? I suppose he could have explained things a little better, but it’s easy to assume that people know the drill when you work at a high-volume place like a chiropractor’s. I’m pretty sure I did something wrong (ignored the face cradle maybe, or perhaps I was curled up under the table), but he quickly got me situated and then…