 | News | Events/Conferences | Life Stories | Find A Therapist | Products | Schools| Advertise |
| | New Ideas | Associations | Experts | Insurance Updates | Continuing Education |
The World Massage Festival  Don't Miss 2009! Inside This Issue: "Everything Festival!"
|
Why I Became a Massage Therapist By: Kevin Roberts
After meeting Elsa, my second grader, at the bus stop, I suggested a bike ride. She was racing along the dirt road by our house, and as she looked over her shoulder at me, she lost control and wiped out pretty bad. As I approached her laying face down, my mind raced with memories as I searched for the way to respond. I remembered my own bike crash, when I broke my right wrist. My mom did not believe I was really hurt until I showed her how my arm was bent. My wrist still cracks and pops every time I move it. I remembered witnessing an old lady crossing the street in India getting mowed down by traffic when I was backpacking across the country. Amazingly, all the traffic stopped, looking at her motionless laying there. Slowly she began to move, eventually getting up, dusting herself off and picking up her belongings and wabbling off the street. I had recently taken a class with Peter Levine on trauma healing, and remembered watching videos of animals in nature and how they dealt with trauma and death. The lady was like the possum 'awakening' from playing dead. I remembered the many car crashes I had been the first on the scene, struggling to help people come out of shock. I often felt useless, and resented the way I was pushed aside by EMS while in the midst of caring for them. I slowly helped Elsa get up, brushed her off and began to access her injuries. After seeing she did not have any broken bones, I took several minutes to work with the muscles in her legs and right arm to bring them out of spasm. I cleaned her scrapes with my own spit. After Elsa had calmed somewhat, we walked back to the house. When we got back I asked her what was still hurting, then did some stretching squats to help the ligaments in her knees let go and regain tone, making it fun so she could laugh. By the time she went inside she was pretty much over it, and an hour or so later we walked back out and she rode her bike back. By the next day she was riding her bike again for fun with no trace of the crash, excepting the scabs on her knees. It was at this point I realized the why of my becoming a message therapist. Somewhere inside I knew that the right help, at the right time and in the right place could resolve trauma, so that it's traces did not continue to attract accidents for the rest of one's life. Then yesterday, as I was about to send this out, she came home with a shiner on her right cheek, having been slugged by some kid on the bus. Time to get back to work. |
Massage News * 336-957-8997 * mike@massagenews.org