The first experience I’ve had with massage was as a kid, through mamaie Suzi (‘mamaie’ is a term for grandma in the South of Romania). She lived far away from us: at the opposite corner of the country. Because of the travel distance and inaccessibility, we never had a very close relationship. We’d see each other once or twice a year for a few days, sometimes a while longer.
Still, I used to be really excited for our reunion and this excitement was driven by two things: deliciously doughy goods…and massage.
You might think that she was pulling all the bells and whistles for our limited time together - no, these two practices are deeply ingrained in her life. Up until recently, with 2+ heart surgeries, she woke up early once a week to knead some dough in preparation for baking fresh bread (‘pâine’) for breakfast. She made colac (braided bread) for church and, once in a while, still fried jam filled doughnuts.
And massage? Sitting down next to her, I knew that, between chats and words of endearment, she would eventually take hold of my hand and caringly squeeze it. Just like dough, I could feel tougher parts of my tissue warming up and softening under the kneading motions mamaie was doing. If I was lying down, I might have been lucky enough to feel the insoles of my tired feet melt under her seasoned hands.
I enjoyed the feeling of : being squeezed, feeling the edges of my body, connecting with forgotten bits of fascia and releasing. So much so that I started massaging my own feet. Right before bed, even in the middle of the night.
Something about it made me feel more present too - I LOVED THE FEELING !
As a neurodivergent person, I do think that offering massage, massaging each other and self-massaging, are caring ways to reconnect with our bodies, to move through pain or stuckness, to show affection, to share pleasure and ease and to stim, finding self-soothing.
My practice today came as an inspiration of what I loved as a child, and later, as an adult.
I often enjoy getting massages from different people, and noticing how my body is able to experience new sensations; or how good it feels to return to familiar and pleasurable sensations. How when my soma (‘soma’ here is in the sense of mind/body/spirit connection) feels supported, I can release patterns of tightness or fear a lot easier. In this practice, my body remembered that it belongs…
The shadow side of my touch experience comes from unwanted touch, working through that with the desire to reclaim touch for myself. I believe that the sensitivity I developed as a reaction to receiving unwanted touch makes me a better equipped consent-led and trauma-aware massage practitioner.
Through the different lenses of my experience with touch and healing, I chose to follow a Level 3 Therapeutic Massage course with School of Bodywork Exeter, 2021-2022. I hand picked this course, led by Emma Gilmore at the time, as it was one of the only courses that seemed to have a trauma-informed lense. Emma’s expertise comes from the world of Fascia focused Bodywork, and this was very present throughout our practice. The core of what we learnt was ‘listening to the body’ and being with what was present, rather than trying to introduce a learnt routine, or deep pressure on pain points.
I also want to acknowledge that even though the course that I have done has not mentioned its’ cultural and linear roots, from my understanding, the two main types of massage we learnt then, come from the below branches:
Holistic Massage - the term ‘holistic’ has been used to represent that practitioners are considering the entire being when massaging (mind, whole body and the surrounding environment), rather than focusing on responding to a specific body-based ailment. From my understanding, the term ‘holistic’ and this type of preventative wellbeing approach, can be traced back to Indian Ayurvedic medicine. As I looked further into it and listened to educators such as Yoga teacher Kallie Schut, from Rebel Yoga Trive - ‘holistic’, in the way that it has been adopted by whiteness, it is completely dis-rooted from its’ origins. ‘Ayurveda is a way of life for the body’ Indie Foolheea. As an ancient practice it has a history of thousands of years of experience and application, which includes many interconnected practices: natural cycles, herbalism, food and nutrition, bodywork, spirituality and so much more. Listen to more about it on the Decolonising Wellness Podcast - Let’s Talk Ayurveda, with Indie Foolheea, hosted by Jyoti Rani.
Swedish Massage - the types of rubbing strokes and tapping used in the practice, I have learnt come from 1868 Johann Georg Mezger, a former butcher turned gymnast physiotherapist. He very much ended up working with the European aristocracy. By introducing the practice through the lens of upper-class privilege, this historical root set a centuries-long precedent, cementing the idea that massage is primarily a luxury experience.
The reflection on those two branches that sit at the basis of my certification came clear to me. I needed to reconnect back to the origins of my own practice, by acknowledging both the harm I participated in - adopting a co-opted, floating philosophy from a rich, cohesive and entwined culture; and the privilege that I have as a white person in having access to those sort of certifications which create the westernised ‘professional validity’ in the first place.
It made me realise that what I wanted to bring into my massage sessions, was this portal of understanding - coming strongly back into my journey with touch that started decades ago, on a beaten sofa in Romania. Long before I learned the clinical terms for any sorts of muscles or nervous system lingo, I watched my mamaie knead dough with hands that understood rhythm, patience, and warmth without ever doing a course on it. Her touch was preventative, nourishing, and rooted in the quiet care of everyday life.
Navigating a commercialised world while offering a paid service (even with bartering and sliding scale options) is a constant balancing act. But by actively resisting the framing of massage as an exclusive luxury, I work to offer touch as a fundamental, accessible human language.
Today, my practice sits at the intersection of all these lived truths. It honors the neurodivergent body’s need for grounding, self-soothing, and safe exploration. It respects the boundaries of trauma survivors by prioritising consent and true body listening over rigid routines. And it actively resists the whitewashing of ancient healing traditions by holding space for where these practices truly come from.
When you step onto my table, you aren't paying for an exclusive escape reserved for the privileged. You are entering a consent-led supportive cocoon designed to help your soma remember what it feels like to belong. Touch is not a luxury - it is a way back home to ourselves.