A personal essay on conscious touch vs. routine, mechanical work.
I didn’t realize how much my thoughts mattered while massaging.
I used to think about what I needed to do next and when things were due. Then, one day during a session, I caught myself doing the same stroke five times in a row.
My heart wasn’t in it.
One of the main reasons I became a massage therapist was because I love the work—and because it holds deep cultural and personal roots for me.
When I think of “roots,” I think of connectedness. So if I’m not present with the person on my table, then the love isn’t there. And if the love isn’t there—why do it at all?
I made it a goal to do what makes me happy—something I would still choose even if money wasn’t a factor.
So after that fifth stroke, I felt disappointed in myself. I had gone against my own values and wasn’t helping the client to the best of my ability.
When I’m disconnected and not attentive to my client, my strokes become mechanical, rough, and clumsy.
Routine is helpful in some areas of life—but not in massage. Most massage therapists have a general outline for how they approach the body, yes. But every body is different, with unique needs.
We may start with a routine, but we use it as a blueprint to dive deeper—to pay attention to the specific areas each client needs.
It would feel strange to know a hip needs more work but to skip over it because the “routine” says to move on. Most clients appreciate that extra attention—because that’s where the real care lives.
But when I’m connected—to my own body and to my client’s—that’s when the dance happens.
The flow becomes smooth, intuitive, and graceful—like water. I notice my clients' faces are more relaxed. I’m present, and my intention is to help them. I don’t do this work for praise—but I often receive more positive feedback when I’m in that connected, flow state.
The real shift came when I received a massage.
My mind was racing, and because I couldn’t quiet it, I couldn’t fully feel the touch being offered. It was like no massage had happened at all. But when I focused on the therapist’s hands—on the parts of my body being touched—I could feel my muscles responding. I was connected. I was intentionally paying attention, and that awareness made all the difference.
So, do I think intention matters in massage?
Yes, absolutely. It changes everything.
