Career Change Isn’t Always a Choice… Sometimes It’s a Voice

I’ve debated where to start my blog writing about a bajillion times.  

Every legit business needs one, plus it’s a way for you to get to know me without having to really commit to anything.  

Win-win, right?  

A few of the burning questions running through my mind…. 

Do I start with lists and information you might want?  

Do I start by teaching you?  

Do I start with my whole freaking story?  

That’s not a blog post, that’s a book.  

Hopefully to be released sometime in the next year, but I digress.  

After much debate, I figured I would start with the day I decided to fire myself from my sixteen-year massage career. 

I remember vividly the day I knew my massage career was over.  

Honestly, it should’ve been over LONG before it was, but I’m stubborn and often dig my heels in. To say I don’t deal with change well-or at least I didn’t used to- is an understatement. Even nerve damage probably wouldn’t have stopped me, but my intuition left me no alternative option. 

It was midweek. The lights were dim, traditional massage spa music playing in the background and I was chatting with a client that I absolutely adored. I’d worked with her off and on for over 15 years. She was one of my very first massage clients and followed me from multiple locations, but that’s not the important part of this story.  

We’d been together through my divorce(s), the Covid craziness, both of her girls leaving home, both of my kids being born… we’d been through the ringer together. And while most would argue you aren’t supposed to be friends with your clients, I have always bucked that rule. It’s hard to keep people that bare their soul to you, often for multiple hours a month, at arm’s length.  

When we met, her husband had passed recently and she was dealing with chronic illness and pain, suffering from grief. During the walk down the hallway before our first session, she could barely stand, needing.to use a cane and leaning on the walls. With multiple sessions a month, we were able to get her working out again and pain free, for the most part. She thought it was just massage at first, but I knew better, even then. She was lonely and desperately needed someone that could understand her pain, both mental and physical. She feared the way her body was turning on her.  First and foremost, she needed someone that could prove to her that things really would be ok. While I didn’t promise miracles, I did promise her I’d do my absolute best to help her. Between that, and simply remembering her name from a previously cancelled booking, I earned a client and friend for life.  

During this last session, we were talking about how long I would be out recovering from the surgery needed to save my left hand from atrophy. I probably should have been scared about the procedure, but it wasn’t truly real in my head, just yet. I think my gut knew I wouldn’t be returning; my mind just hadn’t caught up yet.   

We were talking about her heading to the beach for the weekend, my plans with the kids… things we had talked about hundreds of times. It was like any other day, but not, as many life-changing days happen to be. Kind of ironic how that works out, isn’t it? 

I was working on her calves, smelling the lavender scented lotion, trying to focus on what I was doing. I went into the session feeling distracted, like something was tickling my brain trying to get my attention. And I was determined to ignore it.  

As I turned to stretch out her quads, my eyes drifted to the Native American tapestry I had on the wall to the right of my massage table. I heard clear as day, as if the person was standing next to me, “this is done”. It wasn’t an unkind voice, but it definitely wasn’t my voice either. If you know me, you know I’m a bit woo-woo and if you didn’t, you do now. I’ve often wondered who that voice belonged to. It wasn’t familiar and it wasn’t unkind. But it was decidedly firm.  

With a rock in my stomach, I let the truth sink in. I didn’t know what was next, but the Universe had been telling me for quite some time that I was meant to turn the page-that this chapter, maybe even this book, was over.  I hadn’t wanted to listen. I had been determined NOT to listen. But, like a bell, once you acknowledge the truth of something, you can’t unhear or un-ring it.  

She was to be the last session I had before my surgery.  

As she left that day, I felt a bit like a fraud because I knew that wasn’t just our last session so that I could heal and return to work.