Tuesday, March 24, 2015

Massage Gently

Healing is a stubborn exercise. It will not be rushed. Any attempt to do so may result in an extension of the process. This goes for the body as well as the heart. The deeper the wound, the longer the time to heal. Some wounds heal faster than others, some require surgery. Some leave scars.

I am an inpatient woman at times. I want to get from point A to point B. I have no intention of stopping to smell anything let alone roses. Or breath deeply. Or live in the moment. Or just be. I don't want to enjoy the journey, or listen to people that tell me to enjoy the journey.  I even get annoyed brushing my teeth at night, I just want to be in bed.  I am a destination person.

Especially when it comes to healing. With healing it is worse. If I am injured I get angry. Slow down? What? Delay further? I look at my broken bicycle as car after car zips by on the highway of "Insert goal/desire/dream/lifemarker here." I don't want to face the fact that I am a late bloomer prone to injury. A turtle with a thin shell. I don't want to confront my vulnerability. I want to scream at my fragility. And when I hit a bump and fall, I will do everything I can to hurry up and heal.

Such was the case a few months ago.

I was bracing for the pain. Well, that is a bit dramatic. I was getting ready for a massage at a local spa. I saved my money and was looking forward to a 90 minute escape. Candles, maybe a nap, completed with the elevator music playing from the CD player in the corner. It was going to be a rare "moment of being" for me but something had changed. A week before I injured myself while jogging. (Not running mind you, jogging.)

"Great," I thought, now I can have the masseuse work out the kinks of my injury, perfect timing." I laid myself down and waited. I heard the door open, and I glanced up. The Healer was standing over me. I mumbled something about my injury and the masseuse simply nodded. I scanned the room for a last minute mouth guard (no luck) and positioned my hands to grip something. The masseuse began to work, inching close to the injured area. I was bracing myself to feel the "working out" of my wound.

It never happened.

Instead, the healer pushed gently and wrapped their hands around the area as if giving it a hug. Slowly, tenderly. And then moved on. I let out a slightly confused, slightly annoyed, mostly grateful deep breath. I didn't want more pain after all. I needed a gentle touch.

I forget that. I forget to give myself grace. I forget to allow my heart to heal for as long as it needs to. I forget to simply nod, embrace the pain and tenderly allow it to take its time. A long sweet time.

I forget to the do the same for others too. I wonder what would happen if we all remembered. To embrace instead of press. To love instead of rush. To massage tenderly.

My injury was healed a few weeks later. I was pain free. Ready to jog again. This time, I may just walk awhile instead.

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