She bursts into my massage room at the spa, flaming read hair, stocky body, flushed faced.
“I had you last year. Were you in this room? Yes, it was you.” I don’t really remember her, but politely pretend I do. I have seen hundreds and hundreds of usually very pleasant people in my years here.
“Please close the door, open a window, turn down the music, the head reset is too high. No maybe it is too low, a little higher.”
Sher squiggles around.
“I think it was better the way it was in the first place.” I calmly accommodate.
Her body is solid, and she wants deep work. I feel as we say in the business, like a flea on an elephant. It is not because of her size but there is no yield. I do the best I can. I have learned to use my 125-pound body in a way that satisfies most deep-tissue requests and preserves my aging limbs.
I am beginning to remember her.
In the 45 minutes I am with her she shares rather sad personal and emotional details non-stop. Details for confidentiality I can’t share here. That is fine. It is sometimes helpful for people to have an anonymous sounding board.
My responses are a series of: hum, oh, ah, un huh. I will never be able to give this woman enough. I like to help. I like to meet people where they are. But there is no THERE, there. I go to the meeting spot and it moves away from me, I drop into the empty well and there is no bottom. I am sorry to say, I am really glad it is only 45 minutes.
The question is, why do I try? Why does it ache in my heart? She is a stranger I have seen only once before. AND why do I actually want to bring a hammer to her frozen body! You want deep tissue? I’ll give you deep tissue! It would be funny if it wasn’t so sad.
I don’t like my reaction and considered chucking this piece altogether. I keep wanting to prove my compassion in this story, how deep down loving I am, at least show how she is my teacher reflecting something in me and it probably is. But good thing there was no hammer nearby.
“Okay, Helen, we are done, please open the door when you are dressed.”
“Oh, it is only 45 minutes? I thought it was an hour. I wanted an hour.” Grrrrr.
So alive and wonderful! I love this non-goody-goody masseuse!
ReplyDeleteis it bad if you can't feel compassion for someone's entitlement? I'm with you, we're in professions where if we can't muster up total compassion, neutrality is required. And who can be that all the time? I love the "good thing there was no hammer nearby." "There is no yield" A lot of sensitivity and self-awareness here
ReplyDeleteFeel bad for you and perhaps a bit guilty for finding this hilarious. It's so freakin' HONEST to feel both compassion and frustration and just knowing that you absolutely cannot please or help someone with such deep seated issues a jack hammer could not dislodge the pain. There is indeed "no THERE there!. No bottom to the endless well. So sad and so frustrating, especially for someone wh truly wishes to help but the wall is just too high.
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