For my birthday dinner last night, my wife took me out to a great little vegan place in Los Feliz. Before dinner, we went to get massages. And I was reminded, not for the first time, of how much work I have had to do in my life to get to the place where I allow myself to be massaged and touched.
Though I’ve been running and doing other fitness activities for years, I didn’t have my first massage until I was 36. For years and years, the idea of having a stranger — or even someone whom I knew well — rubbing me all over freaked me out. No matter how sore or achey I got, I preferred to treat my pain with massive doses of ibuprofen. (At one time, when I was more foolish in my training, I was doing 2400 milligrams of ibuprofen every darned day, before, during, and after workouts.) It wasn’t the expense of a massage; I felt the same way about allowing a girlfriend or buddy to rub my neck or back.
I’ve always been an affectionate person. I’m a hugger, an enthusiastic back-slapper, a comforting patter of knees and shoulders. And I was always quite willing to rub the aching shoulders or neck of a friend or loved one. I never had a problem initiating physical contact; as long as I was in control of how much contact happened and how long it lasted, I was happy. Receiving was, to put it mildly, a different story. I had zero ability to lie back and enjoy any kind of physically pleasurable experience, unless that pleasure was provided by an inanimate object. (I remember discovering a massage chair in an airport lounge many years ago. Though I still had some trouble enjoying the experience, I was at least willing to try it.)
What I came to realize, with the help of she who is now my wife, is that I had a very serious control issue when it came to my body. As someone who battled eating disorders for years, and still has to watch his exercise addiction, I’m unduly infatuated with my own physical autonomy, particularly when it came to pleasure. I was very good — during my various youthful hospitalizations — about putting up with various medical procedures. I used to joke that I had an easier time being catheterized or having my stomach pumped than being given a full-body massage. (The former two experiences happened entirely too often.) So it wasn’t just about losing control — I could accept losing control when it involved suffering in a way that I couldn’t when it involved pleasure. What I couldn’t accept was the overwhelming discomfort that came when someone else seemed single-mindedly focused on giving pleasure to me.
The strange mix of guilt and anxiety that I felt just at contemplating getting massaged (by loved one or hired stranger) wasn’t rooted in any early childhood trauma, nor — as far as I could tell — was it connected to a profound sense of guilt about my body. My massage phobia was alive and well during the most promiscuous times of my life, when I had no trouble being sexual with people I barely knew, as long as those sexual experiences didn’t involve me passively receiving anything pleasurable. I had no trouble undergoing medical exams either; I’ve never been one of those men who is reluctant to go to the doctor. It wasn’t about a loathing of the body, it was about a mistrust of other human beings rooted in something so deep that I couldn’t name or see the source.
My very patient girlfriend, now my wife, worked on me gently and lovingly. I finally broke down and gave into a massage on Valentine’s Day, 2003. We were out in Palm Springs together, and when we woke up on the morning of February 14, she hit me with a bombshell: she had ordered a “couples massage.” Two men would be coming to our room that afternoon with tables and oils and New Age music, and they would rub each of us. For an hour. And there was to be no arguing; I was to give it a try as part of my Valentine’s present for her. And I gulped, swallowed hard, and agreed. I spent half an hour in the shower before the masseurs showed up, scrubbing myself clean. Though at this point I had been off drugs and alcohol for five years, I found myself longing for a quick little drink, or better yet, a handful of benzodiazepines to cope with the anxiety. But I went through the experience stone cold sober.
The masseur was wonderful, gentle, strong. He found the sore spots in my lower back and my chronically tight hamstrings right away. About fifteen minutes into the massage, I began to cry. I kept on crying, softly, until the hour-long experience was over. It was an extraordinarily cathartic mix of profound emotional discomfort, intense pleasure, and psychological release. After the men left, I felt overwhelmed with nausea. All of the toxins stored in my muscles for so long were now flooding my system, having been released by the massage; I spent the rest of Valentine’s Day 2003 puking. It wasn’t very romantic, but my gal was thrilled, knowing that I had broken through this phobia about pleasure and control.
I still only get massaged a couple of times a year. It’s still often a difficult experience to endure, though I’m getting better and better at receiving pleasure and healing work while I lie passive. I know I’ve got a strong puritanical streak within me. Most of the time, I think that puritanism is fundamentally good — after all, it’s rooted in the conviction that I must not allow my own selfish desires to trump my ethical responsibilities to the earth and its creatures. But there’s a thin line between restriction for the sake of sharing with other living beings, and anhedonia, the aversion to pleasure in its own right. Learning to accept massage, learning to accept touch, learning to accept caress and care is an important, if incredibly difficult, part of this journey towards making that vital distinction.
Just be thankful you weren’t born into a family specializing in South Indian Kathakali dance-drama - the training, I heard, is arduous, and is complemented by (almost literally) back-breaking massages, i.e. people standing on your back and massaging you with feet.
I don’t know how to work your trackbacks :(, but I linked to one of your older posts.
http://www.amptoons.com/blog/archives/2007/05/23/q-since-when-is-being-criticized-like-having-your-limbs-blown-off-by-a-landmine-a-since-that-criticism-came-from-someone-with-less-privilege-than-you/#more-3418
[…]Awhile back, I read an excellent post by Hugo called Words are not fists: some thoughts on how men work to defuse feminist anger.
In this post, he writes about how the men speak in his women’s studies class:[…]
I know how you feel, Hugo. I’ve gotten massages a couple of times, but I always felt kind of guilty that someone would take time out of their day to make me feel good. My boyfriend gave me a gift card to a spa a couple of years ago for Christmas. I was so excited! Yet, when I actually laid down to get the massage, I tried very hard to not appear “spoiled” by thanking the lady repeatedly. It stole from the experience. Last Christmas, we both got massages and I was better about that, probably because he was in the room with me. Anyway, I understand the awkwardness you feel! It will get better with more massages.
By the way, I think the gift your wife gave you on Valentine’s Day 2003 was invaluable – not to mention creative!
My girlfriend is a professional massage therapist and she encounters this problem more then you might think. We’ve discussed it, and it seems like the women feel uncomfortable that someone is thinking of their health and wellbeing, as though it is “greedy” to take proper care of your body. The men seem uncomfortable because it is a woman who is taking complete control of their body, and it makes it hard to sexualized her when she is taking medical history, recommending stretches, and talking about latin muscle names. I sometimes wonder if the cultural stereotype of massage therapist = hooker isn’t just an attempt by our patriarchal culture to downplay the medical skill and intelligence of massage therapists, who are overwhelmingly female.
And don’t even get me started on states with no licensing requirements (Indiana). My girlfriend has professional training as a massage therapist plus half an undergrad human bio degree, worked at a spa voted best in the country last year, and currently works in medical message chiropractic. Currently she has a 95% rebooking rate, which is exceptional for her field. And she is treated as, joked about, and implied to be a “stupid hooker”.
That’s interesting, Sarah. I’ve had massages from both men and women, and can’t say my own discomfort is affected by the sex of the person working on me. But I can see how the stereotype of the masage parlor might be particularly galling for women who are professional healers.
It took my wife to get me to understand the joys of massage as well. For me it was the financial thing - I felt guilty about buying a $35 pair of tennis shoes, let alone paying $150 for a spa treatment. But she drug me into Burke Williams, right there in Pasadena, and got us each a treatment for our anniversary 7 years ago or so, and now. . .well, maybe once a year I go in, and I treat her more often than that. And I choose to not feel guilty about the money any more, since we don’t really splurge on anything else.
I suppose that’s where you and I differ, again, Hugo. I have little problems with accepting a healing experience that is pleasurable in some sense, but I think you have hit upon an interesting point about mistrust when concerning loss of control, even if that perception of loss of control is rather subjective. (In addition to that, the most benefits I gain from deep tissue massage therapy comes from an hour and a half appointment—some people simply can’t lie there that long).
For many years I desired to go to massage therapy on a semi-regular basis, and one day after training heavy in various form of contact fighting, which I still do, I wasn’t in the best of moods after some rewarding but rather painful sessions in Muay Thai and submission fighting. In some way I hit the jackpot, because not only the clinic I attended was close to home, but it would yield a positive experience for me—I would be introduced to the therapist that I still see twice a month. It will be two years this upcoming summer.
One of the things that is vital when selecting a therapist, that is if you plan to see one once in while and want to stick with a specific person, is establishing a rapport—and, of course, having a relationship based on trust. I hope I don’t need to remind anyone to check credentials of they are concerned about it. My own is very personable with her clients and understands their needs—that’s why she’s booked up for one to almost two solid block weeks (and I always am forced to schedule way beforehand).
Those who have suffered overt sexual abuse in the past, but still want to glean the benefits can often seek out a place where you don’t have to completely disrobe or simply work on anatomical areas (like a typical head/neck/shoulder work) in a place that conducive for those wanting a truly lighter and gentle touch which you are comfortable with.
There’s a wealth of information on the Net for professional massage therapy for the fence straddlers who are still uncertain about the healthy results from the biological, physiological, and emotional ends.
Thanks, SR, and Dan as well. Some good points in particular, SR, about creating safe space to relax for those who’ve endured abuse.
This was very interesting to read, Hugo. I have a similar problem with massages (I seize up the next day, and the day after, and the day after…) but for me it’s actually about being touched by *strangers* rather than being passive. Massages from friends are just fine. I have the same problem with chiropractors; my regular one feels like a friend and I don’t freak out, but anybody else makes it worse instead of better.
Anyway, I’m always fascinated by the way my body talks to me about whatever issues I still haven’t worked out. And good for you, making the breakthrough on that Valentine’s day.
Hugo,
A lot of things you’ve been saying lately about pleasure and self-sacrifice have resonated with me, and i thought i’d share a couple of the resonances.
There’s an idea in Jewish rabbinic thought that’s always echoed in my head, ever since i first found out about it. The idea is that when you go before God to be judged, you will be asked to account, not just for every forbidden (contrary to the commandments) pleasure you sampled, but also for every *permissible* pleasure which you *failed* to sample.
While not Jewish *or* Christian myself, i’ve always loved this idea. It teaches that God gives the world to people not just for their *betterment*, but for their *enjoyment*–and that therefore *failing to enjoy it* is, in and of itself, “missing the mark”.
Regarding anhedonia: i’ve long thought it telling that while the early Christian church talked about Despair as a “primary” or “deadly” sin, it later got more or less erased (well, folded into Sloth. But mostly nobody really thinks of Sloth as a deadly sin anymore; even though it’s on the Official List, it’s regarded as much less bad than any of the others.)
As someone who suffers from Despair myself–in the form of clinical depression as well as just general negativity and nastiness–i can certainly attest that it blinds one to what is good and what is holy, *regardless* of one’s religious/moral/ethical framework.
Joy–real, honest-to-goodness Joy–is the only real antidote. But it’s not on anyone’s Official Virtues list. And that pisses me off.
A-flippin’-men, Adrienne. I love that idea of God questioning us about our untried pleasures… that’s a wonderful notion, and one I’d love to reflect on more. I have never heard it before.
First, I’m a total massage junkie. I have arthritis and my insurance blessedly pays for twice-monthly sessions.
But as to Hugo and Adrienne’s posts above…Hugo, have you ever read any John Piper, particularly “Desiring God”? Piper’s way too Calvinist for my tastes, but his premise is that our problem is not that our human desires are too strong (ie, the flesh) but that they are too weak (that is, we settle for the fleshly desires when God wants us to delight in greater things). The subtitle to his book is “Christian hedonism,” which he carefully defines not as a subset of hedonism as normally understood, but as delight in the things of God. He takes the old Westminister catechism definition “the purpose of man is to glorify God and enjoy Him forever” and turns it into “glorify God BY ENJOYING Him forever.”
Adrienne, I know what you mean about “Official Virtues Lists”. But consider St. Paul–who has been variously considered a curmudgeon, a legalist, and a misogynist by some–who writes that the fruit of the Spirit (ie, the fruit of a life lived fully unto God) is “love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control” (Galatians 5:22-23). Joy is #2 (and I think his #1 is right on as well). He practically commands joy at one point–”rejoice in the Lord always–again, I say rejoice!” (Philippians 4:4) So, I would submit it IS pretty high on his “Virtues List.”
I’ve read some Piper, but not “Desiring God”. I certainly share the premise as you summarise it here!
OK folks . . .
What happens if we take Hugo’s story and reverse the genders and substitute “anal sex” for “massage?” Is it ever really loving to FORCE or mentally COERCE or MANIPULATE someone to do something (or receive something) that they are freaked out about and is difficult for them to endure?
BTW - I personally think that massage is awesome.
Uh, Dave, it’s not analagous (sorry, couldn’t help it.)
Usually, when someone is trying someone else to do a specific sex act, the person pressuring is the one who will receive the most pleasure.
My wife wanted me to start getting massages because she thought I would enjoy them. She wanted me to work through my issues with receiving pleasure. She got no direct physical pleasure out of it.
We all need to be pushed to go out of our comfort zone, but only by those who don’t directly benefit from our doing so!
Hugo! Thank you for speaking so honestly in this post. It struck a major chord. (My problem is more with receiving sole pleasure / making myself vulnerable = losing control in a romantic context; but I also have a general problem with learning to just accept when others want to give to me). And as with you, I am finding it really difficult to locate the source of this. But as you say there is both guilt and some deeply buried mistrust at play there… so, I guess I just wanted to say thanks for raising this, and it would be good to hear how you have been working through this, from your value system.
Hugo-
Maybe I’ve missed something, but the whole “no arguing”/ trying it is a “Valentine’s present for her” thing seems coercive. We could debate whether or not the anal sex analogy is relevant or not.
Instead, let’s try another analogy. Scientists say that many women have trouble climaxing during intercourse. Many, many women who cannot orgasm through intercourse CAN orgasm with a vibrator. Let’s a say a husband tries to coerce a woman to use a vibrator or some other type of sex toy. She is scared of battery powered sex toys. He says, “Babe, you will get so much pleasure from an orgasm and It would make me so happy if you had one. I’ve ordered sex toys for both of us. We’re gonna sit in bed and use them on ourselves. I don’t want any arguing. I want you to try it as a Valentine’s day present for me.”
I think it’s cool to convince someone, in an open discussion, to consider things. I don’t like emotional strong arm tactics and I personally hate coercion.
Gosh, Dave, that doesn’t seem any more analogous.
My wife did not coerce me. She trusted her instincts about what I needed, the kind of instincts that a devoted couple can develop about each other.
Men have been pressuring women to have orgasms in order to assuage their own fragile male egos for, oh, a fair stretch of time. There is no comparable tradition of women urging their husbands to get massages, and no comparable ego payoff. Trust me, I was the one in the room that Valentine’s Day and no coercion was involved. My words may have inadvertently given you that impression.
I think we need to stop this sidetrack and limit the comments to pleasure and its importance.
I’ve always hated being massaged — I’m really ticklish and very controlling — but I just know that a really deep massage would be a highly cathartic experience. I should try it one of these days.