Who's afraid of a massage?

A massage therapist's journey of self-compassion and acceptance through chronic pain

By Phaedra Owlfinch

I’m a massage therapist who finds receiving massage stressful and often painful.

Right before the pandemic, I quit working as a support worker - I found the job extremely demanding mentally and physically, and I needed a change. This involved re-evaluating my goals of becoming a counselling psychologist, which felt impossible without an assistant psychologist position, which I thought was only viable through significant support work experience. Needing to find a new profession that aligns with my values, I trained as a massage therapist. 

Physical pain still felt like a given of life, something to endure and dissociate through. 

Touch hurts 

I undertook a year’s training, which started with an introductory day involving self-massage. I touched my leg, grabbing it with both hands and squeezing until my hands felt satisfied this was ‘massaging’. My legs responded by sending pain signals to my brain. I felt uncomfortable, but at the time the idea of being gentler on myself didn’t cross my mind. 

I had spent so much time completely disconnected from my body and had recently been learning about emotional pain in therapy. Physical pain still felt like a given of life, something to endure and dissociate through. 

I learnt so much from this massage course. I learnt to feel a human body and get a sense of what it needs, I learnt to slow down and breathe, notice, and stay present with minimal input. I learnt that my nervous system is more regulated than I think and I can help others find peace through holding a space for them. 

I also learnt about my own body. I experienced what it’s like to tolerate pain and discomfort at the hands of someone full of good intentions who hasn’t yet learnt how to tune into the experience of the person they’re massaging. I felt the uncertainty and unease of realising the touch I’m receiving is uncomfortable or even painful, and the paralysis of not knowing if or how I should speak up: the touch can move so fast, my colleague is still learning, what if this shakes their confidence or I’m labelled sensitive and dismissed? 

I did have these experiences. I remember clearly, months in when I had learnt to tell my colleague in advance that my body is sensitive to pain, nonetheless still receiving a painful and fast massage, and mustering the courage to repeatedly ask for less and less. At the debrief, I was met with “wow, you really are sensitive”. Both shame and the feeling that I had been hit by a truck followed me home that day, taking several more to dissipate.

The doctor gave me a diagnosis: Fibromyalgia.

Why am I like this? 

Shame often leads to questioning why. What is wrong with me? Why is everyone around me having a wonderful time but I’m not? Post-graduation I started giving professional massages for work, but my journey of self-discovery was still in its infancy. I chose to receive from experienced professionals, counting on their knowledge and awareness to help me out. Still, it took time to settle somewhere - one didn’t take my warnings seriously and thought my deep breathing signalled enjoyment rather than a frantic attempt at self-regulation. The idea that good intentions could prevent harm during massage was pervasive, and followed me. 

Eventually returning to my course leader for individual treatments, deeper work took place. The massage slowed down, became curious and exploratory. It was touch, rather than massage, and the goal was to learn safety rather than relax. It was during this course of treatment that I realised how much fear I held about holding my boundaries. I wanted to heal, I wanted to learn how to receive touch, but if I gave ‘too much’ feedback, surely the therapist would get tired of me and stop caring. 

We practiced using the words ‘pause’ and ‘stop’. Using pause didn’t lead to her taking her hands away from me, it just led to her staying still and letting me process my sensations in my own time. Tears flowed. The human instinct to pull away as soon as I expressed pain was internalised in my body as rejection. Memories returned of all the times, starting in childhood, that I tolerated pain, discomfort, even sex due to fear. My body was just starting to be my own. 

The second layer of discovery came when I visited a doctor in Greece complaining of various mysterious pains - usually starting after a massage. A dull ache in the back of my neck, sharp pain in my left shoulder blade, zapping sensations all the way up and down my IT bands. The doctor gave me a diagnosis: Fibromyalgia. I’ve always been sensitive to touch, possibly due to neurodivergence, but at its most painful and intrusive, my experience had now been given a diagnosis. 

I realised that the best way for me to avoid flare ups was to stop blindly following other’s instructions for what to do with my body.

The turning point

It took me a while to understand and believe Fibromyalgia meant much. After getting the diagnosis confirmed by the NHS, I was promised many therapies that I have yet to be offered five years later. I kept working as a massage therapist, but stopped receiving - massage was a flare-up trigger. 

I approached other angles of recovery - physiotherapy and exercise. A pre-diagnosis visit to a physio told me there’s nothing wrong with me. Post-diagnosis, my experience was even worse. Going to a personal trainer led to more big flare ups, and though I knew exercise was important for my healing, I felt alone in figuring out how to actually apply it. 

Still, I did swimming lessons and went to the gym. At the pool, my swimming improved massively, but I also realised that being given too many instructions by the teacher led to flare ups. In time I realised that the best way for me to avoid flare ups was to stop blindly following other’s instructions for what to do with my body. I made my own weight training gym routine using information on the internet, alongside the level 4 anatomy and physiology knowledge from my massage training. 

During a particularly bad flare up, someone I met connected my left shoulder blade pain to fibromyalgia and the nervous system. I delved deeper and found The Fibro Guy. Things started making more sense for me: the fear of flare ups was partly creating them. Fibro is complex and affects everyone differently, but this felt true to me. My flare ups eased through meditation - I tried to find a comfortable position on the sofa using lots of cushions and played the sound of waves through my headphones. I imagined myself as the ocean, created space for the pain around the waves of my body and let it wash away. In time, the pain softened. 

I value the importance of consent and autonomy and always keep in mind that what is comfortable to me might not be to someone else.

What I’ve learnt 

Now I’m still training, managing my symptoms and offering others massages, as well as training as a talking therapist. I know my triggers better: 

• Having touch or demands imposed on my body by others without sufficient safety 

• Going for too long without activating my muscles through exercise

• Not doing warm-up and activation exercises before specific movements 

• Certain sleeping positions over a period of time 

• The fear of a flare up and belief that I will not cope if I get one 

It is complex, but it is working for me so far. I still get flare ups, but they are less scary and last less long. I know what to do about them and how to try and prevent them in the future. 

I believe this experience makes me a better massage therapist and therapist overall. I value the importance of consent and autonomy and always keep in mind that what is comfortable to me might not be to someone else. I listen to my clients’ bodies and take both their words and non-verbal signals seriously. I am gentle and understanding to those who are suffering and for whom massage can’t be enjoyable yet - if at all. I know what it’s like to be let down by the system and by many professionals along the way.

What now?

My practice is going well, I feel like I’m bringing joy and I’m learning both as a massage therapist and counsellor how to help with physical and emotional pain and stress. At the same time, I feel a sense of loss. I delight in the joy of clients who derive relaxation and relief from my massage, but I have yet to experience a fully safe massage myself, where I can switch off and know that everything will be okay. 

I haven’t given up on the cause. I can now ‘massage’ my leg without causing myself pain. I’ve restarted the process of receiving, knowing that my body is stronger through exercise and my mind is steadier through meditation and self-compassion. With Adriano as my therapist and the safety of home as the practice grounds, I hope that with time I will turn a trigger into a resource. 

If you have read this far, thank you. And if you relate to some of my journey, know that my therapy room will be an accepting space for you that values your autonomy and unique ways of relating to the world and your body.