I love being a massage therapist. I have met other therapists who say the same. I pray to any and all deities that I’m not as pretentious, egotistical, insensitive and lazy as some of the recent ones who’s work I’ve endured. This is why I’m afraid to get work done from a new therapist. The therapists I’ve loved have gone on to other careers or have left town. I refuse to be worked on by a male, anymore. Their egos suck all the oxygen out of the room and some have been borderline inappropriate.
I am very clear about what I need and don’t want in a treatment. Some therapists don’t know how to interview! I’m the one who begins with my issues and needs. They give me a look that is a combo of fear, irritation and impatience. They just want me on the table, so they can give me their standard, bullshit massage. Yeah, it feels good, but doesn’t address my needs. They never see me again.
My last massage was from a therapists with 20 + years of experience. She was also recommended by another, seasoned therapist. I had high hopes and was desperate for some work. I had to instigate an interview. She needed to know about my hip replacement which barely raised concern. I did say I wanted to focus on my upper body. Massage therapists stuff. Not a big deal. I’m always worried someone will want to do range of motion and stretches on me, even when I say I do not want them. Listening is an important skill a lot of therapists lack.
The massage started off with some lovely strokes and light banter. I made the mistake of allowing her to talk, when she apologized and said she should be quiet. “No, it’s alright. I’m open to spiritual quests and meditation.” That was a big mistake. It was like inviting a Jehovah’s Witness into my house. Suddenly, the talking became more animated and faster. I needed to watch this Ted talk and read this book and watch this Youtube video..Oh, and I am invited to come to a meeting, every week. To hear some guru talk about shit that’s been around for eons. I try to politely refuse. I’ve had some issues with spiritual groups before. Oh, but this is different! No, it isn’t. I stop responding to her chatter and wonder when I’m going to turn over so she can work my anterior side. I’m beginning to get stuffed up from the face cradle. She keeps fucking talking and doing the same moves on my back, over and over. I’m beginning to wonder when it’s going to end.
Well, it does end and the woman has spent the whole, fucking hour just on my back. No Pectoral work. No forearms. No neck and scalp. When I’m dressed and step out of the room, she’s waiting for me. Names of books, authors, gurus and her personal card are handed to me with some water. I really need to learn to keep my mouth shut and not worry about people’s feelings. This needy person just latched onto me because she thought I was like her. My fault for allowing her to.
I’m always trying to be kind and help people. Because I know what it’s like to be wounded and alone.
So, what am I looking for in a therapist?
LISTEN to me! I know my body better than you.
I don’t care what YOU think I need. Unless it’s my second visit and we’re discussing a treatment plan, after you have experienced some of my body’s quirks.
Do NOT get all New Age, spiritual, amateur dietitian on me. Stay within your scope of practice.
Can we please, keep the talking down to a minimum? You don’t need to ask me about pressure every minute. Trust me. I’ll let you know it it’s too much or not enough. You want to visit? Take me out to lunch and we can talk about almost anything.
Don’t go all insecure on me when you find out I’m a therapist. Own your skills. If you’re new to the profession and want feedback. I’ll be kind and hopefully, helpful.
I don’t want to hear about your boss, co-workers or any other issues you might be having at work. I’m on the table for my benefit. Once, I had a therapists/co-worker go on about her boyfriend and as she got angry, her pressure got deeper and she almost hurt me.
No Enya, please. Ocean sounds are my favorite.
Don’t freak out if I start to cry. I hold a lot of stuff in my body and you have no idea how much emotional trauma is burred or where. I’m not used to being taken care of.
Comments and questions on my many, tattoos, scars and body hair are not welcome. I had a female co-worker feel comfortable enough to mention how jiggly my butt was and how hairy my thighs were, during a treatment. I came close to making fun of her fake tits and over waxed vagina. (She bragged about it, along with her trophy hubby who loved her. (Fake tits, bleached hair, waxed cunt.) so much. Fake bitch.
Keep your fascists beauty standards to yourself!