I haven’t met a massage therapist yet who always dreamed of doing massage for a living. Don’t get me wrong—massage therapy is a great profession—but it just seems to be the kind of career you fall into. Usually, massage therapists have a “story” about how they came to this career choice. I always say that “massage found me” because I am just like that. I never set out to become a massage therapist, in fact, I wanted to be a killer whale trainer.

Yep—you read that right. I thought I was going to be a killer whale trainer. (Important Note: This was around 1998, so before we knew all we know now about how killer whales suffer in captivity.) I worked REALLY hard in school, got straight A’s (except when I had to teach myself trigonometry in 11th grade because I was stuck at home for 2 months with mono), and graduated at the top of my class. I chose to go to the University of Central Florida and major in psychology because it was in Orlando and psychology was the degree Sea World preferred for their killer whale trainers. I spent pretty much every weekend talking to the trainers at Sea World, figuring out what the auditions would be like. One of my neighbors was a killer whale trainer apprentice—and he was helping me train for the underwater tests. I even started volunteering at a local improv comedy club so I could learn how to act and speak in public. This was MY THING. I was going to do this.

Until I couldn’t. When I was 22 years old, I injured my lumbar spine and had to have my first back surgery. To help pay my way through college, I had started taking pictures of families and kids at a chain of portrait studios. One day, while working, I started to notice that my lower back was hurting a lot more than usual. It got so bad that I ended up lying down in the back room for a few hours—unable to move. My Mom had a chiropractor that she was having success with, so she signed me up for an appointment. When I arrived, he did a few X-rays and told me that I had scoliosis. I remember thinking that this was weird—I come from the generation of kids that were checked for scoliosis every year and had always been fine. The chiropractor told me that my case was pretty bad and I would have to come in three times a week for a few months to get better. Again, I had a bad feeling about this. (Another Note: Always follow your gut when it tells you to think twice about something!) He adjusted me, having me lie on my side—and I couldn’t get up from the table. Now—I will never know if he actually created the herniations I suffered or if I already had at least the start of them to begin with—but when the neurologist ordered an MRI, we found out I had two herniated discs that would require surgery. There was no way I could become a killer whale trainer. The dream was over.

I never saw myself as a pyschologist, so the degree in psychology wouldn’t really do me much good. I kind of floundered for a few years, working in call centers and for the doctor my Mom was working for—but none of it was at all career-type work. When I was pregnant with my son, I re-herniated the same discs (plus one more) and had to wait several months after delivering him to have a second back surgery. The surgery was technically “successful”—but I was still having a lot of daily pain. Out of desperation, I went to a different chiropractor and he suggested I try massage therapy.

Now, I have to be honest with you. My idea of massage therapy was a relaxing day at the spa. In my mind, there was no way it was going to help me—but I was willing to give it a try. When you are desperate, as I definitely was at the time, you will try anything. A lot of patients find me out of desperation—and I tell them honestly that I have been there. So, that’s what happened—I was willing to try anything to feel better, even when I didn’t have high hopes.

My chiropractor set me up with an appointment with his massage therapist, a talented therapist named Claire. I hobbled in to her massage room, which was set up like your typical spa room. She asked me some basic questions about my back and surgical history, then proceeded to massage me for 30 minutes. The first few minutes were quite relaxing, with Claire doing some basic effleurage (long, light strokes) as she checked out my lower back. She worked her way in deeper, and I began to really feel it. I wouldn’t say it was PAIN I was feeling, unless I described it as a “relieving pain”. The half hour flew by, ending with Claire’s elbow in my butt muscles—which did hurt for a minute but seemed to instantly relieve my back pain. I couldn’t believe it! I left her office with a whole new respect for her—and for the profession of massage.

I went to Claire several times a week for two months. Piece by piece, she began to undo years’ worth of muscular trauma and damage. After a few weeks of work, I was surprised to find that the massage therapy sessions also seemed to help me deal with my ongoing anxiety and depression. I told her that I couldn’t really describe it—I just started feeling better. One day, I was talking with her while she worked on me—and I asked her how long it had taken her to become a massage therapist. I was stunned when she said it had taken her only a year! This led to me asking her what type of money she made, and she told me she usually brought home around 40k a year working for the chiropractor. Not bad, for a year of education. She told me that she really enjoyed helping people feel better. That stuck with me. I had already seen how effective massage therapy could be—I was a walking example of the power of her work.

I started kicking around the idea of going to massage school, talking to my friends, family members, and even my doctor about it. Initially, no one was really positive about it—my doctor especially. He told me that he felt that my career would be very short-lived because of my back, painting a picture of me ending up on disability. My parents weren’t negative so much as concerned that as a massage therapist I would be in situations that might be very dangerous for me. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had asked Claire about massage for a reason. Who better to help people with chronic pain than someone who has experienced it? I understood what it was like to be in constant pain, both the physical and emotional components of it. I really felt like maybe I could take that horrible experience and use it to help others. I decided to check out some massage therapy schools and just see what it might be like to become a massage therapist.

I was completely shocked to learn that massage school required over 750 hours of hands on massage AND a massive amount of book work all crammed into under a year. Looking over the anatomy books, I realized that it would challenge me. I decided to take the plunge, signing up for massage therapy school. Over 13 years later, I am so glad I did. I can truly say that I am in the work that still excites and stumps me. There are still cases I have to learn new skills to solve. There are still so many modalities out there I know nothing about—and that makes me want to learn even more. I never expected to connect with people like I have been able to. For me, massage therapy is the profession I was meant to have. I am so grateful for it.

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