Wednesday, April 25, 2012

Mountains and Valleys

I slipped out of the terrycloth bathrobe, nude except for the underwear I kept on for false modesty and jumped underneath the sheet on the table like the masseuse had instructed. My arms dangled towards the floor, lifeless, and my head faced down with eyes closed breathing out my mouth because of the stress cold I caught the week following his death.

Her palms began at the nape of my neck, passed my shoulder blades, against my spine, into the small of my back, and to the tip of my tailbone. Over and over again she made me feel the length. She was taking a long journey through the trail of my back. And for the first time, I didn't think about the imperfect skin. The scars from teenage acne became irrelevant as I could feel the overpowering little hills and valleys that have formed from on my body from too many second servings of my mom's cooking and years of playing sports.

My body, a landscape not a canvas, built and constructed to perform and sustain.
My hips and rolls took up most of the table and left little room for my arms to lay by my side. I rested them on my belly, soft and warm like an oven underneath the sheets. I wasn't going to let insecurities and the fear of not having a perfect body keep me from enjoying the massage I paid for. If she didn't like my body, then she could be the one bold enough to refuse to serve me. I let myself experience the privilege of living in a body you love.


  1. Thank you for this. Just thank you.

  2. I just might get up the nerve to try my first ever massage thanks to this. Thank you.