The Kneaded Touch

The Kneaded Touch

I was thirty-nine years old when I found what I want to be when I grow up.

Whereas most well-adjusted children seem to have an instinct of what they aspire to, I had no idea. In my youth the only vocations for women seemed to center around teaching, nursing or secretarial careers. None of those appealed to me particularly. Of course, there was motherhood, but that was a foregone conclusion and you had to have something else that called out to you to start out with, go to college for, or end up with after the kids were grown and gone.

High school counselors would prod you to come up with some concrete goals so you could set them in stone and aim for them. Take a few prep classes or join clubs geared towards them so you could be in more pictures in the yearbook, have more credits after your name in the back, look like you participated, impress your rivals, wasn't a deadbeat...

Did any of my teen-age jobs prepare me for a meaningful career? My first ever paid job, YMCA summer camp counselor, taught me kids could run all over me so teaching was out. Mind-numbing sales clerk position convinced me I wasn't cut out for sales. Corn detasseling? Not the agricultural protege.

What about classroom or extracurricular activities? Even though I liked to sing and dance and did so in a couple of school musicals, I wasn't the star and no one discovered me. Thespian, likewise. Speech class, don't put me through that again! Typing, worse grade ever so secretary pool was out. Any kind of math, chemistry, or physics left me cold so nursing, doctoring, and mad scientist dreams all died. No good with deadlines so never tried journalism on the school paper.

Once one of those journalist types asked all the seniors what they were going to do after graduation to be printed in bold type after your name. Had to come up with something so I announced 'Speech Therapist'. Sounded like I knew exactly what I wanted. I didn't. But there it is in the year book.

After graduation I headed off to community college taking general Liberal Arts fare. Married after the first year, expecting first baby by time final exams would be coming around second year so didn't do that fourth semester. Can always go back, right? Of course, second baby followed immediately then a third within two years and a fourth two years later. Four kids under five. Who had time for more schooling?

My husband was big into weight training by the time the youngest started school. There was no place in town that had the kind of equipment he wanted so we invested in some and opened a fitness center for his hobby. I took a night course in aerobics and started teaching classes. This I did like as I had always tried to stay physically fit.

Fast forward five years when hubby took up new hobby with new woman and our marriage ended. I had to go out and get a real job. Waitress extraordinaire was not paying the bills. I pursued a position as a security officer at a nuclear power plant facility. Talk about mind-numbing! Let's not.

I kept hearing about massage therapy becoming popular. Now that was something I often did for my husband when he was sore from training. I once suggested I could maybe train for it and offer it at the center. He went ballistic with 'No Way'. But he wasn't around anymore. I researched, found a school close enough and worked out a schedule between kids and work. Within months I was a Nationally Certified Massage Therapist.

The nuclear plant was nice enough to lay me off so it was sink or swim time. I needed to make a full-time living with this part-time gig. I pieced together traveling to private homes with working out of a beauty salon in a bigger city and made that work until I could open an office.

The year was 1991 and massage therapy was not understood by the majority of people. There was one other lady in my town that I knew of that offered it. She was retired by the time I started. I tried to get the hospital interested. They were not on board. I had to educate the population. But the occupation was gaining a foothold and more therapists were being trained and setting up practice in the surrounding area. One young lady did finally convince the hospital it was a worthy treatment. I applauded her for succeeding where I had failed. However, she did not stay in the field very many years.

There is a high burn out in this occupation. We need to self-care extensively. I was one of the first in my town to offer hot stone massage. I think the therapeutic effects of the hot stones helped save my own hands for extra years.

In my private practice I also offered spa treatments like inch-reducing body wraps and combined that with hypnotherapy for weight reduction. I traveled to residential facilities to care for physically disabled or elderly individuals. In the summers I worked at a camp ground doing as many twelve massages on a Saturday.

I always wanted to open a medical massage clinic and hire other therapists. I never achieved that goal. I had enough clients to keep myself busy but worried I couldn't maintain the volume needed for employing others.

Overall, I had a highly fulfilling career. I truly loved helping people feel better. No one ever went away unhappy. My motto: Every Body Needs To Be Kneaded.

I started traveling with my second husband who took work contracts out of state for extended time frames. Still I was able to always come back, call my clients and pick up where we left off. But eventually I realized I was sacrificing the feeling in my hands with what I was doing. I needed to decide if it was worth the pain in my joints.

The final decision to retire came when my office landlord decided he could rent out my space for more money to someone else. I keep my license current and can still work on family members. But my hands do protest.

Instead now I peck away at this keyboard possibly fulfilling other latent dreams.