Last week, I indulged in a much-needed 90-minute, full-body, deep-tissue massage. As the therapist focused on my shoulders, back, neck, arms, hands, legs, and feet, I felt gratitude for her skilled hands. And though I tried clearing my head during that luxurious time, I couldn’t help but think of all the various massage experiences I’ve encountered over time. 

My first massage was 40 years ago in the therapist’s home. My cousin was a regular client and suggested I try it. I was a bit nervous but mustered up the courage and scheduled a one-hour massage. I can’t say whether it was good or bad because I had nothing to compare it with, but I do remember stressing over the amount of tip to leave. Numbers tapped through my head like a calculator. Would it be too much or too little? I hated math. And the massage.

Then there was the lady at an established massage place who talked the entire time. I made the mistake of opening my mouth to say, “Is it raining outside?” which opened the door to her sharing details of her personal life, including where and how her children were conceived.

A young man at the hospital, where I worked, gave massages in a small conference room near my office. He covered his right hand over the back of his left, settled them on the center of my spine, and pushed down with his full body weight. It was like an upside-down cardiac massage or a massive dinosaur crushing my spine. It took a while to recover from that one.

A new massage place opened in a nearby mall and offered a discount for first-time customers. I walked up to the front desk, and a lady greeted me, then proceeded out the front door to snatch the attention of a young girl dressed for a punk rock concert, her head in a puff of cigarette smoke. Okay, I thought. I’m open-minded, and although she looks young and reeks of smoke, maybe it will be an amazing experience. But she obviously had zero training. She poked and prodded different parts of my body without a clue. That was one massage I prayed would end. And I calculated her tip in the first five minutes.

A resort massage I indulged in was a cocoon relaxation wrap. This gentle application has skin softening benefits using aloe vera, heat, and herbal detoxification while reducing muscle tension. It rejuvenates, revitalizes, improves digestion, and balances lymphatic flow for a healthy immune system. The only thing it doesn’t do is turn you into a butterfly. 

I tried another place in an upscale neighborhood, thinking I couldn’t go wrong, even though it was over my budget. I found a therapist trained in deep tissue massage whose mighty hands worked miracles. One day, I lay there face down, relaxed, as her hand lightly brushed my shoulder. Soon, the touch was so light I could barely feel it. Several minutes went by, and I heard shallow breaths. Then she started to snore! She was taking a nap at my expense. 

After Sheila fell asleep on me, I found Kaley, and this was a gift. A petite young woman with powerful hands and a healing heart. Despite our age difference, we became friends, confidants, and suddenly, massage therapy became therapy for my emotional health. One day, she visited my home with my daughter, who is her age. We had massages, lunch, and a few glasses of Prosecco. Kaley later took to the road with her family, and I knew it would be impossible to replace her. 

After Kaley closed her studio, I went to a therapist who continually sniffled, snorted, blew her nose, and coughed in my face for the full hour. I might add this was toward the end of Covid and I had taken a chance. Thankfully I didn’t catch the bug. And I never went back. 

I always wanted a massage on the beach. Something about it seems peaceful and romantic. So, when I attended a writing conference in Kauai, I splurged and scheduled one. The table was set inside a tent, so I couldn’t see sand, smell the ocean, or hear the waves. It was hot and sticky inside. And that therapist was almost as bad as the punk rocker.

But then. THEN! I found Dagmar. She’s a TCM practitioner who also does acupuncture. Beginning with a trip down the sides of my spine, she traces every muscle adding pressure to points I feel in my shoulders and down my arms. I flip over, and like a locomotive, she glides along my arms and legs, pressing deep into bundles of fibers, tissues, and ligaments to untangle knots and release tension. Her skillful hands bury into my neck at the base of my skull and occipital lobes. It’s magic. It’s healing. This gift of touch is Heaven.