Grief and Bodywork

When my mom died from her “secret cancer” when I was 22, my small family imploded. Until the night before she died, I had been estranged from my father, who was recovering from a recent heart transplant. For two years, I hadn’t seen or communicated with him. I was an only-child and my grandmother and uncle, my only other family members, grieved very differently. They needed to bottle-up their feelings and move forward. This was impossible for me. I was gutted and devastated and I couldn’t pretend otherwise. But I felt scared and alone.

I had only had one professional massage prior to losing my mom. She had gifted me a massage on a trip when I was 20. At that time I was in the throes of an undiagnosed eating disorder and I felt very self-conscious and nervous about my body being exposed and viewed by anyone. The massage was perfectly fine, but I don’t remember thinking that it was something I loved or particularly needed. (It’s interesting to think about my perceptions about it now and why some people are not drawn to bodywork. There are many reasons; but, that’s another post.)

I had moved back to my mom’s house to be with my grandmother and to help settle my mom’s affairs. To get myself out of the house, I was working part-time waiting tables at a local restaurant. One evening a mother and daughter came in to have dinner together and after I took their order and they told me that this was a regular “date” for them; I returned to the restaurant kitchen and burst into tears. My mom and I would never have a meal together again. The manager of the restaurant kindly gave me the evening off and suggested I take a weekend getaway to a local hot spring and spa and, “book a massage,” she said. Just hoping that something would help, I took her advice.

I don’t remember if I told the massage therapist about the reason for my retreat. I just remember that it was the most calming and soothing experience I had had since my mom died. I shed tears of grief, but also of relief that it was possible to feel soothed and peaceful in a world without my mom, even if only for a few moments. That massage gave me hope.

After that experience I found myself seeking massage sessions to help me reconnect with the feelings of love and safety that losing my mom had made me fear were gone forever.

At that time, massage for grief was not a recognized therapy, but now, thirty years later, bodywork specifically designed to help with the grief process is recognized as an important therapeutic practice. Bodyworkers can train specifically in the best ways to support people who are grieving. Generally this means creating a safe and quiet environment for the person and then simple, repetitive, predictable strokes.

Now, I always appreciate the honor it is to work with someone who is grieving. I feel so fortunate to be asked to provide a client living through a loss with a space and environment to be with this heartbreaking yet normal human process. 💙