Historical Trauma in the Massage Parlor

So in light of my commitment to move into this process of self-evaluation in learning how I hold power in relation to others, I would like to post my first AOC post. This is scary and I feel vulnerable but much like my determination to get to the small village in rural Sudan via a tiny, rattly, shaky Cessna, I'll do it anyway.

My mom in all her awesomeness has gifted me with occasional massages (she pays, we go together - it's a date thing). We last went a few weeks ago. I don't care if my masseuse is a guy, girl or anywhere along the gender spectrum. That evening though my masseuse was an African American guy.

This was a first. And as we walked back to the room and made small talk, I could feel the on-coming analysis. As I lay there on the table and he first started massaging my calves (who knew how many muscles we have there?) I felt the weight of historical trauma, and my own so-easily triggered guilt, in the room: thick and heavy. Initially I was also bombarded, in my mind's eye, by images I've seen in documentaries and historical pictures about Jim Crow, the KKK, and worst of all, the hangings of African Americans on any excuse, but especially for "touching a white woman".

So I started to talk with him. What I wanted to tell him was how sorry I was for the way his people were/are treated, about slavery, about the fact that I'm aware of the barriers he faces as a minority, that I'm on his side. What I told him instead, which is what I tell every person who works their magic through massage, was that this, what he's doing, what he's giving me, was a gift. That I was deeply appreciative. We talked a bit about what I do and he felt likewise, that what I do is a gift to help others. It felt better to talk. Even as he so cautiously, so carefully (more so than any other masseuse I've had) asked if he could move the sheet up toward my gluteus maximus, I felt that he was skating on the line of "what is too much?". I told him he could move the sheet wherever he needed, no problem. (My years of living in a more body-liberal Europe have left me pretty blaze about what should or should not be covered up.)

I felt by the end of the session, through conversation, we had both moved toward a place of comfort with each other. Indeed, that is my truth, and my hope for him with me, too.