The cranked out massage therapist

awkwardmasseuse

So for those of you who don’t know, an element my late mid-life crisis was going back to school.  To become a therapeutic massage therapist.  At age 55.

With AGMA, the fun never stops.

I earned a BS in 1975 and an MBA in 1981.  Actually, BS pretty much describes both degrees.  As my dad used to say, “That and a dime will buy you a cup of coffee.”  He was always so supportive…  I marvel at that phrase as I drink my $5.25 mocha.

While I think I had the brains, I never had the political savvy, confidence and whatever else it is you have to have to climb the corporate ladder.  Like Bob, Stuart and Kevin, I was a minion working for an evil corporate empire.

But I was a pretty happy minion as I wrote in my early 2104 post On Haitus Inc.  I was able to work part-time in a professional job that paid a professional salary.  Sweet.  And it allowed me to be at home quite a bit while my kids were growing up, and do the sports mom and school volunteer thing.  Not sure my kids were so thrilled, but I loved it.

But after the baby birds flew the nest, I went back to work full-time in 2002.  It had been 30 years since I’d worked full-time outside the home.  Now THAT was a shock to the system.  I felt like I was being water boarded at GTMO.   What do you mean, I have to come into the office EVERY day?

I was ripe for the picking (some may even say a little spoiled) and my husband knew it. He lured me to move to Atlanta with the enticing promise that I could quit my full time miniondom.

After floating around for a few years in the ATL doing odd jobs, I felt a calling to learn therapeutic massage.  This mystified my family and friends.  And me. I  grew up in a very Germanic household where nobody touched anybody.  And if you, horror of horrors, accidentally brushed against someone, apologies abounded.  The idea of massaging strangers seemed a bit improbable if not impossible.  To be honest, I was a little worried…

But sometimes you just have to go with those promptings of the spirit and get out of your head.  So I did.  I went with it and graduated from MT school in 2009.  It’s one of the best decisions I ever made.  Whew…

So what’s this about being cranked out?

I can hear some of you saying, “But AGMA, shouldn’t you be incredibly happy that you’re doing something you love?”

It’s really not that I’m cranky.  Okay, so my husband might not agree with that.  But when it comes to my profession, I’m just a bit sensitive.

I think it’s because I’m too old to deal with some people’s attitudes about massage therapists.  Age is liberating like that.  One of the many things about getting older that I love.

Unless French is their native tongue, I get kinda cranked out when somebody calls me a “masseuse”.    Please don’t call a legitimate, licensed therapeutic massage therapist a “masseuse”.  Please.  Especially if they are going to work on you in the near future.

We know spots on the human body that are very, very ouchy tender and we just might “accidentally” put a bit too much pressure on them.  And it doesn’t matter how big and bad you are – I can have you whimpering like a puppy faster than you can say “I didn’t mean to call you a masseuse. You’re a massage therapist!”  It’s like Mr. Spock’s Vulcan death grip thing.  A lot like it as a matter of fact.

A masseuse is a person you find in back classified section of the local hipster paper that works at a place called Sensual Sensations or something like that.  Or you can find a masseuse on Craigslist – in the “for adults only” section.  Or on that Ashley Madison website.

I bet Josh Duggar had a masseuse…

A masseuse isn’t licensed (for massage therapy, that is), doesn’t carry professional liability insurance (for massage therapy, that is) and never went to school (for massage therapy, that is.)  A masseuse will pretty much always be under the care of a doctor for a variety of irritating, nasty little rashes in “private places” that just don’t ever seem to go away.  Eww.

Got the picture?

And never, ever even think the words “happy ending” when you are around a professional in the therapeutic massage field.  Never.  Ever.  We can read minds.  Vulcan death grip, remember?

Although we hope it never happens, we are taught in our ethics classes how to professionally respond to a client’s “inappropriate” behavior.  This is a good thing for the younger therapists.

But again, I’m just too freakin’ old to put up with that kind of nonsense.  There might be a possibility that an inappropriate male client could leave my therapy room with their voice a few octaves higher than when they entered.  Accidents happen, you know?

So I’m not really cranky.  Not really.  I just want my profession and fellow, legitimate practitioners to be respected for their healing abilities and not to be viewed as the target of tasteless jokes and innuendo or worse.

Massage therapy has been used in as a tool for wellness for millennia.  It’s an alternative and complementary therapy that involves no invasive surgeries or big pharma.  It treats the whole person and helps bring mind, body and spirit back into balance.  Research has proven that it can help reduce the pain felt by a cancer patient and reduce the intensity of the side-effects of chemo.  It can improve sleep patterns in the general population.  It relaxes and de-stresses, and helps the adrenals recover.  It can calm an agitated Alzheimer’s patient.  It can save a patient from having carpel tunnel or shoulder surgery.  And on and on and on…

Pretty cool eh?

Okay, so maybe I’m just a little tiny bit cranky.  But it’s in that endearing AGMA sorta way.

And you gotta love that.