To have a life by design and not by default, it is important to periodically revisit why we do what we do. Years ago, at the genesis of this column, Massage & Bodywork Editor-in-Chief Leslie A. Young and I agreed that every massage session is a learning opportunity—for the therapist, the client, or often both.

For the last several years, I have chosen isolated sessions that represent an important principle or clinical pearl. I am convinced, however, that every session could be a viable column (of course, at seven or eight clients per day, that’s a lot of stories to tell!).
To test this concept, one morning I arbitrarily decided to write about the third appointment of my afternoon, no matter what the content. I had no idea who was on the books that day or what the purpose of the treatment might be. If every session holds a lesson, let’s let chance decide. While this column is vastly different than previous Table Lessons, the message is quite profound. I hope you agree.

“What you do is so important,” my client said.
This statement came after a long silence, during which I had been intently releasing restriction in her hips.
“Thank you,” I replied. “So many people hurt, and they don’t know that precise soft-tissue work could really help them.”
“That’s true,” she said. “But that’s not what I am referring to. Just the act of touch is immensely important and often underestimated. Touch alone is a very powerful force.”

Her statement was one we all know to be true, but one that is easy to take for granted. Ms. J., my client, is a brilliant psychotherapist, and through the many years of our working together, I know better than to take anything she says lightly. I let the gravity of the moment sit for a bit longer before speaking.
“I am in my 38th year doing massage. I still find it remarkable that someone I have never met will lie on my treatment table and allow me to touch them. I am a complete stranger, yet they allow me to contact and explore where they feel discomfort. I have never taken that for granted. And, people do this at their most vulnerable time, physically or emotionally.”
“That is what I mean,” Ms. J. explained. “To allow someone to actually touch you is a remarkable thing. This is even more true when the area being addressed is sensitive and vulnerable.”
“Really, it is the same for your profession,” I replied. “People see you to explore their most vulnerable psychological struggles, and they do so because they know it is safe.”
“Agreed,” Ms. J. said. “But there is an immediacy to your work that isn’t always true in mine. Mine is often less direct, taking many sessions before we get to the heart of the matter.”
“I suppose that’s true,” I concurred. Placing my hand on her shoulders, I held it there for a long moment.
“With words, one can be evasive,” I said. “If I was your client, and you asked me about an area of great sensitivity, I could use language to avoid that which is uncomfortable for me to communicate. When I put my hand on you just now, there is nowhere to go. You cannot hide or evade the connection.”
I did not answer right away, allowing the question to hang in the air. Some questions are better left to savor—the question is far more valuable than an immediate answer. Ms. J. then revealed more about the context of this conversation.
“I know someone who is seeing one of your staff and is getting great benefit from his sessions. He is someone who struggles with deep connections to others. His relationship with his parents was troubled; his mother was a very cold and distant person who seldom praised him or was physically comforting. While he is married, he has very little physical contact with his wife. They have a cordial relationship, but there is no warmth and little physical contact. So, back to my question. When does one get that kind of comforting touch that asks for nothing, only acceptance?”
“I’d have to answer that it begins with the touch of a mother.”
“Exactly. And what is implied in that touch?”
“I’d have to say love, probably trust, and certainly acceptance.”
“Do you see why massage therapy is so important for my client? It isn’t just the touch; it is what is implied in the process of touch. The only time people allow and experience that kind of touch is when there is an understanding that some form of trust exists. Normally, trust is built on relationship; trust is earned. In this case, touch exists, so the emotional connection is assumed, bypassing a series of relationship processes that are very difficult for him.”
“You know,” I responded, “I always tell my students that touching the body is really touching the nervous system; our body is the nervous system revealed.”
“My friend, like everyone who comes here, receives great benefit in opening a window to his deeper self via touch, a self that he feels has many flaws, cracks, and internal struggles,” she added. “In safely exploring those supposed cracks and flaws physically and thus emotionally, he learns how to apply the principles of self-acceptance in daily life.”
“Exploring the self-perceived cracks and flaws can become a really important window for deep self-discovery,” I said.
“Those cracks are indeed very important,” Ms. J. acknowledged. “As musician Leonard Cohen wrote, ‘That’s how the light gets in.’”

Douglas Nelson is the founder and principal instructor for Precision Neuromuscular Therapy Seminars and president of the 16-therapist clinic BodyWork Associates in Champaign, Illinois. His clinic, seminars, and research endeavors explore the science behind this work. Visit www.nmtmidwest.com, or email him at doug@nmtmidwest.com.