earliest memories of massage
I’m around four years old, and it’s a transition day: my dad is bringing me to my mom’s house after a weekend with him. I’m already ready for bed, so all I have to do is climb under the covers. But I’m sad - I don’t want my dad to leave. My parents exchange patient glances and sit on either side of the mattress. One takes my hands in theirs, the other takes my feet. They’ve done this plenty of times; a little massage for an anxious kiddo. It won't take long for me to fall asleep.
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I’m around five. My mom is attending city college, and she and her friend are studying at a little cafe down the street, Espresso Metro. Their daughters, my friend Sierra and I, play studiously with dolls one table over. Sierra mentions that her shoulder has been bothering her lately (looking back, this is probably something she heard her mom mention at some point). And even though I didn’t know that, I did know just the thing for an ache.
“I can give you a massage!”
She agrees. I stand on the bench seat behind her, the plastic cover wrinkling under my feet. We’re small, so this works.
I place my hands on her shoulder and start to massage them.
“Wow Ahri, you’re really good at this!”
I feel a rush of pride, and she continues, “You should do this as a job!”
A compliment from Sierra doesn’t come every day. I’m thrilled. “Thanks! Maybe I will!”
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I’m in first grade and I just wrote a book! It’s a thrilling tale about a group of dinosaurs and unicorns who are looking for a party in the forest. The last page is titled, “About the Author” and features a picture of me flashing a toothless smile. Underneath the photo is a brief summary, detailing, “Ahrianna would like to be an artist or a massage therapist when she grows up.”
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Fast forward fifteen years, and I’m attending the same city college, studying at the same little cafe down the street as my mom before me. I’m almost finished with an AA in music education, and I have my eyes on the music therapy program at Northridge. I love music and want to explore the concept of non-traditional therapy.
But something just feels off, and this perturbs me. My partner notices.
“What about massage?” he suggests. The idea I’ve been toying with forever. I feel connected to it, but in my brain, trade school isn’t “real school” and massage isn’t a career with longevity.
I turn to my oldest trusty decision-making helper: a pros and cons list. The pros heavily outweigh the cons, which are based on societal expectations and internalized judgment. My partner reminds me not to care what people think if it makes me happy, feels right, and it’s not hurting anyone. Annoyingly, he is always right.
When I get home, I tear apart my closet to find an old pamphlet for the National Holistic Institute that I snagged at a college and job fair. I call, make an appointment to sit down with the dean, and soon, am enrolled.
Fifteen months and 1,250 hours later, I graduate from NHI’s Advanced Neuromuscular Therapy Program as a Certified Neuromuscular Massage Therapist and Health Educator, and promptly open up Remedy Massage Therapy.
