I supervise student clinic on Saturdays. Kim* has been in my clinic for the past two terms. Kim has been in one or another of my classes for her whole time in school. She used to be a fighter. Like a semi-pro fighter, do she knows how to give and receive a blow. Once I overheard her telling her classmates how someone tried to mug her and she laid the guy out flat.
Yesterday, Kim called a few minutes into the clinic shift. She was sobbing, and all I could understand was ". . . Some dude. . . backpack . . . On my way in the police car . . ." I told her I would meet her at the door and we would sit down and talk. When she arrived, she had a wide-eyed, panicked stare and tears running down her face. I walked her to the office and closed the door. Then she told me that she had been mugged on the way to the train. The guy jumped her and because of her bag, she couldn't throw a proper punch, so she wrestled helplessly while he smashed her head into the ground. He ended up stealing a bracelet that was a family heirloom. He only stopped beating her when some other guys ran up to help. She filed a police report and came straight to her clinic shift. I brought her ice for her already-swelling face, convinced her to call a friend to take her to a hospital, and let her wait in the office. She said she felt safe there.
I checked on her often, and each time I did, Kim rode another wave of the realization of trauma. She could have died. She lost an irreplaceable family heirloom. She couldn't fight him off, even though she knew how. I held her head in my hands while she breathed, and I made her promise to text me from the hospital.
In one of my classes, we talk about working with trauma survivors, and our responsibility as massage therapists. We talk about the balance of compassion and professionalism, and how people don't need us to weep with them. They need us to hold a calm, safe space. A non-judgmental space. I know this is difficult, and I used to think I was good at it. But I couldn't help crying with Kim for her loss of security. And I can't help wanting to beat that m*****-f***** into the ground.
Kim is fine, physically. As I said to her, the emotions will come in waves, probably for a long time. And I will focus on wishing her wellness instead of wishing harm to her attacker.
*- name and identifying details have been changed
Sunday, October 6, 2013
Thursday, October 3, 2013
The Sky has Fallen. Long Live the Sky.
Recently, the faculty at the massage school received an email. The text of the email, in its entirety, read: "(Beloved Education Director) is no longer with (school.) if you have any questions, please see me and I will do my best to answer them."
Well, yes. I do have questions. When the woman who basically built this school is no longer here, with no warning and no goodbye -- I have questions. What do I tell the students? This woman supported, pushed and believed in every one of them. One evening in my class, I watched her sit with one of my students and lay into the student about her shaky academic standing. All with love. Love of the profession, of learning and educating, and of the students.
The night of the announcement, I taught a class, and I told my students. I told them that I was sorry I didn't know more, but out of respect for her, they should not speculate. After class, I met a colleague outside the faculty lounge, and held her while she cried her contact lenses out. Our mentor was gone. The sky had fallen.
Since then, we have been going on with what we do, trying to support the students with the same dedication and passion she had. Some of us are focusing on those things we can control. Some of us are spiraling down into rumors and negativity. Last night, I saw a colleague who had been out moving house when this all went down. "Well," she said, "we just gotta keep on keepin' on, right?"
Ah. Yes. She's right. I looked up last night, and the sky had not fallen. It was gradually darkening gray criss-crossed with streaks of pink clouds. We thought the sky had fallen because we were bent down with our frustration and grief. We are still apprehensive about what comes next, and we are now saying goodbye to more people who see this as a sign to leave. But our students come to class, and we have information for them. We keep on keepin' on.
Well, yes. I do have questions. When the woman who basically built this school is no longer here, with no warning and no goodbye -- I have questions. What do I tell the students? This woman supported, pushed and believed in every one of them. One evening in my class, I watched her sit with one of my students and lay into the student about her shaky academic standing. All with love. Love of the profession, of learning and educating, and of the students.
The night of the announcement, I taught a class, and I told my students. I told them that I was sorry I didn't know more, but out of respect for her, they should not speculate. After class, I met a colleague outside the faculty lounge, and held her while she cried her contact lenses out. Our mentor was gone. The sky had fallen.
Since then, we have been going on with what we do, trying to support the students with the same dedication and passion she had. Some of us are focusing on those things we can control. Some of us are spiraling down into rumors and negativity. Last night, I saw a colleague who had been out moving house when this all went down. "Well," she said, "we just gotta keep on keepin' on, right?"
Ah. Yes. She's right. I looked up last night, and the sky had not fallen. It was gradually darkening gray criss-crossed with streaks of pink clouds. We thought the sky had fallen because we were bent down with our frustration and grief. We are still apprehensive about what comes next, and we are now saying goodbye to more people who see this as a sign to leave. But our students come to class, and we have information for them. We keep on keepin' on.
Tuesday, September 24, 2013
Rhythm Heals.
I hope N.E.D. (www.nedtheband.com) will forgive me for borrowing their song title for this post, but it fits exactly what I want to say. I have been thinking about oncology massage and geriatric massage, and why I am drawn to it. I get asked this question a lot. My stock answer is : "It suits me." I never truly tried to dissect why.
Then I saw a documentary about this amazing group of gynecological oncologists who formed a rock band called N.E.D. In the documentary, one of the doctors talked about how music could help patients find hope and optimism in the face of a devastating diagnosis. After the film, my friend and I talked about how nice it was to see physicians talk about the healing power of Art.
Which brings me back to what suits me. Art suits me. For me, the creation of any kind of art requires first a basic compassion towards and optimism about humanity. To build something new and lovely out of one's mind and heart works best, I think, when the artist loves their audience. Even when they don't know who their audience is. For me, massage therapy, the Art side of it, feels like a pure and tangible form of love and optimism. And working with oncology and geriatric clients magnifies that feeling. As I reach out to touch people who are often at war with their physical bodies, I find that my technical skills and scientific knowledge mean nothing if I don't begin with love. By this I mean what Christians sometimes call "Agape," the deep respect, care and compassion for our shared humanity.
I may not be making music like the #Rockdocs, but I am tapping into and creating rhythm. The rhythm of breath, the rhythm of movement, the rhythm of a treatment addressing and responding to a person where she is, right now. It heals.
***********
Check out N.E.D.'s song here:
http://youtu.be/HwpbGSXZye8
Then I saw a documentary about this amazing group of gynecological oncologists who formed a rock band called N.E.D. In the documentary, one of the doctors talked about how music could help patients find hope and optimism in the face of a devastating diagnosis. After the film, my friend and I talked about how nice it was to see physicians talk about the healing power of Art.
Which brings me back to what suits me. Art suits me. For me, the creation of any kind of art requires first a basic compassion towards and optimism about humanity. To build something new and lovely out of one's mind and heart works best, I think, when the artist loves their audience. Even when they don't know who their audience is. For me, massage therapy, the Art side of it, feels like a pure and tangible form of love and optimism. And working with oncology and geriatric clients magnifies that feeling. As I reach out to touch people who are often at war with their physical bodies, I find that my technical skills and scientific knowledge mean nothing if I don't begin with love. By this I mean what Christians sometimes call "Agape," the deep respect, care and compassion for our shared humanity.
I may not be making music like the #Rockdocs, but I am tapping into and creating rhythm. The rhythm of breath, the rhythm of movement, the rhythm of a treatment addressing and responding to a person where she is, right now. It heals.
***********
Check out N.E.D.'s song here:
http://youtu.be/HwpbGSXZye8
Sunday, September 15, 2013
"I absolve you, mediocrities everywhere!"
I went to my first faculty meeting. Besides the usual talking-too-much-about-nothing which plagues every meeting, this one had an extra level of despair. The campus director was talking to us about student retention -- quite a challenge with our student body lately. She berated us for saying sometimes that we thought this or that student did not have what it takes to be a massage therapist.
She told us, in all seriousness, that employers needed graduates at all levels. They needed superstars to come in and be amazing. They needed skilled journeyman-level workers who could come in and knock out some solid relaxation services. And (she hesitated) they needed less skilled people who they could train how they want.
Pardon? I looked at my colleague to my left. She looked like she was going to turn green and Hulk it out all over the room. I looked at my colleague to my right. She was rubbing her ears as if something was messing with her hearing. Did our campus director really just say that employers WANTED mediocre, unknowledgeable therapists?
I started teaching because I love this profession and I want to make it better. I have met and received massages from some pretty mediocre therapists, and rather than complain about them, I wanted to be part of the vanguard that made them better. My vision is massage therapy as a 2- or 4-year program, depending one whether one wants to be a generalist or specialist. I see myself, and my students as part of the health care continuum which includes physicians, nurses, napropaths, and a whole range of highly trained professionals. There is no room for mediocrity in my vision.
I do understand that students who struggle often become therapists who do amazing work. I am willing to work with these students to get there. I am not willing to push along a student who will not take anatomy or kinesiology seriously.
One of the two colleagues sitting next to me put in her resignation after the meeting. She was that disillusioned. Sometimes I wish I had the financial wherewithal to do the same. But then, I remember the woman from Arthur Conan Doyle's "The Noble Bachelor," dismantling the walls that held her from inside, brick by brick. Subversion takes years, sometimes. It takes patience, always. I tell myself that this is what I am doing.
She told us, in all seriousness, that employers needed graduates at all levels. They needed superstars to come in and be amazing. They needed skilled journeyman-level workers who could come in and knock out some solid relaxation services. And (she hesitated) they needed less skilled people who they could train how they want.
Pardon? I looked at my colleague to my left. She looked like she was going to turn green and Hulk it out all over the room. I looked at my colleague to my right. She was rubbing her ears as if something was messing with her hearing. Did our campus director really just say that employers WANTED mediocre, unknowledgeable therapists?
I started teaching because I love this profession and I want to make it better. I have met and received massages from some pretty mediocre therapists, and rather than complain about them, I wanted to be part of the vanguard that made them better. My vision is massage therapy as a 2- or 4-year program, depending one whether one wants to be a generalist or specialist. I see myself, and my students as part of the health care continuum which includes physicians, nurses, napropaths, and a whole range of highly trained professionals. There is no room for mediocrity in my vision.
I do understand that students who struggle often become therapists who do amazing work. I am willing to work with these students to get there. I am not willing to push along a student who will not take anatomy or kinesiology seriously.
One of the two colleagues sitting next to me put in her resignation after the meeting. She was that disillusioned. Sometimes I wish I had the financial wherewithal to do the same. But then, I remember the woman from Arthur Conan Doyle's "The Noble Bachelor," dismantling the walls that held her from inside, brick by brick. Subversion takes years, sometimes. It takes patience, always. I tell myself that this is what I am doing.
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
They Got It!
Last night I gave one of the lectures I both like and dread the most -- the lecture about working with geriatric and terminally ill clients. At some point during the lecture, I can guarantee that I will see a room full of "lemon face," which means my students are actively trying to protect themselves from the icky ideas of aging and death.
Last night, however, I got through the whole lecture with no lemon face. This very small group of students are just as young as any other class, and just as oblivious to the concept of aging as something even they are doing. They skipped lemon face, though, and went right to compassion.
There is a posture students get when they get truly excited about a topic, and start to yearn for more. They lean forward. Their eyes get bigger. They open their hands and unconsciously reach out towards me. Everyone in the room last night had that posture. I could almost feel their curiosity pulling information out of me. When we started doing hands on practice, they went immediately into their focused place and committed. To everything.
What a joy for my barely-functioning shell to see this next generation of massage therapists get excited about working with people who are transitioning out of life. I may make it through summer after all.
Monday, August 5, 2013
A Burnt Out Case
While I am not quite ready to go find a leper colony in the jungle, it is clear that I am becoming a Burnt Out Case. There are cracks in the facade, and plaster is starting to rain down. Work and school used to be my sanctuaries. I could go and teach or do a massage and be so fully in the moment that I literally forgot everything else. Even if the train ride in was a sea of screaming babies, seat stealing suburban tourists and surly conductors, by the time I walked into my classroom, I was the picture of calm, professional control. When I went in to give a massage, I could disconnect from everything else and draw fulfillment from the simple act of doing something I love.
This week, though, it's coming apart. I try to tap into those endless reserves of grounding, calming strength, and I find that the connection is lost. Somebody unplugged my grounding circuits. I try to fill myself up with breath, and I can almost literally hear the echo of wind in a hollowed-out soul. This week, I got a new client. A friend referred her to me. I almost didn't take the appointment, although I desperately need it. I barely mustered the energy to do my best massage. Afterwards, I had only enough energy to pick up the crappiest food I could find and sit on my sofa trying to hypnotize myself with computer games.
Just in time, I think, I realized what this is. This is what burnt out feels like. This is the thing I spent all those hours in Ethics lectures warning students against, and making sure they knew the signs and the dangers of ignoring those signs. Well, crap. Now it looks like I need to take my own advice.
I used to think that knowledge was the answer. The more I learned, the more energetic I felt, and the more I wanted to do. More classes. More challenges. More studying. It turns out I was just pushing myself further into my head, where the gasoline and matches live. Whoosh. Burnt out.
I find myself looking longingly at pictures of mountains and streams -- truly quiet places with no trains or cars in the background. I have just enough left to get through the summer, then I think it is time for this Burnt Out Case to seek a brief sanctuary in the mountains. Massage sabbatical planning is under way.
This week, though, it's coming apart. I try to tap into those endless reserves of grounding, calming strength, and I find that the connection is lost. Somebody unplugged my grounding circuits. I try to fill myself up with breath, and I can almost literally hear the echo of wind in a hollowed-out soul. This week, I got a new client. A friend referred her to me. I almost didn't take the appointment, although I desperately need it. I barely mustered the energy to do my best massage. Afterwards, I had only enough energy to pick up the crappiest food I could find and sit on my sofa trying to hypnotize myself with computer games.
Just in time, I think, I realized what this is. This is what burnt out feels like. This is the thing I spent all those hours in Ethics lectures warning students against, and making sure they knew the signs and the dangers of ignoring those signs. Well, crap. Now it looks like I need to take my own advice.
I used to think that knowledge was the answer. The more I learned, the more energetic I felt, and the more I wanted to do. More classes. More challenges. More studying. It turns out I was just pushing myself further into my head, where the gasoline and matches live. Whoosh. Burnt out.
I find myself looking longingly at pictures of mountains and streams -- truly quiet places with no trains or cars in the background. I have just enough left to get through the summer, then I think it is time for this Burnt Out Case to seek a brief sanctuary in the mountains. Massage sabbatical planning is under way.
Monday, July 29, 2013
There Are More Things on Heaven and Earth
Last time I wrote about Christina, and I talked a little bit about True, as in, "what happens on the table is True." (quote by Tracey Walton.) "True" is the word that stuck with me after our session, and the word that keeps coming into my mind at unattended moments. It came to me again in the form of Gina*, my client.
Like many of my clients, Gina has cancer. She has a difficult cancer that most places would call end stage. As in terminal. As in: don't waste your time with chemo, Gina, just enjoy the time you have left. Gina isn't having it. Last time I saw her, she spoke for a long time about her quest for the next level of treatment, and about how the massages brought her to a calm place after living every day in anxiety. She asked me, in all sincerity, what kind of energy work I was doing with her.
I told her I wasn't trained in energy work. I didn't have that knowledge or skill, so I couldn't possibly claim to be doing energy work on her.
Smiling, Gina said, "Bullshit!"
She climbed on the table for her session. I focused and grounded myself, like I always do. I massaged her gently, cautiously, and slowly, like I always do. I silently wished her peace as I did so, like any human being would do.
Gina's breathing slowed, her shoulders dropped. After the session, she told me she felt a light and calm presence surrounding and infusing her body. I thanked her, and hugged her, and decided not to wonder where that came from.
True.
*-- name and all identifying details have been changed
Like many of my clients, Gina has cancer. She has a difficult cancer that most places would call end stage. As in terminal. As in: don't waste your time with chemo, Gina, just enjoy the time you have left. Gina isn't having it. Last time I saw her, she spoke for a long time about her quest for the next level of treatment, and about how the massages brought her to a calm place after living every day in anxiety. She asked me, in all sincerity, what kind of energy work I was doing with her.
I told her I wasn't trained in energy work. I didn't have that knowledge or skill, so I couldn't possibly claim to be doing energy work on her.
Smiling, Gina said, "Bullshit!"
She climbed on the table for her session. I focused and grounded myself, like I always do. I massaged her gently, cautiously, and slowly, like I always do. I silently wished her peace as I did so, like any human being would do.
Gina's breathing slowed, her shoulders dropped. After the session, she told me she felt a light and calm presence surrounding and infusing her body. I thanked her, and hugged her, and decided not to wonder where that came from.
True.
*-- name and all identifying details have been changed
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